Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud,
Whose brightnesse shall deface proud Phœbus' flowre,
And over-shadow Albion with her leaves.
Till then Mars shall be master of the field,
But then the stormy threats of war shall cease: 50
The horse shall stamp as carelesse of the pike,
Drums shall be turn'd to timbrels of delight;
With wealthy favours plenty shall enrich
The strond that gladded wandring Brute to see,
And peace from heaven shall harbour in these leaves 55