Mongst whom, if some, yet mindfull of her worth,
With iuorie fingers touch do chance to turne
These luckie leaues, I only picke them forth
To grace Ioue’s wit-bred brood, the thrice three borne
With their great worth, she dead, left now forlorne,
That by their power, whence I this verse deriue,
She may in them, and they in her suruiue.
358.
And yee faire nymphs, that like to angels houer
About the palace of our Britaine king,