Did oft frequent, as former times can tell,
When her sweet soule in mortall mould did dwell:
It is a walke thicke set with manie a tree;
Whose arched bowes ore hed combined bee,
That nor the golden eye of heauen can peepe
Into that place, ne yet, when heauen doth weepe,
Can the thin drops of drizeling raine offend
Him, that for succour to that place doth wend.
Where, when alone I first did enter in,
And call to minde how that truth-shielding queene,