And leauing mee to muze what she should bee,
Yuanished into some other place:
But straite (me thought) I saw a rout of heauenlie Race.
Downe in a Dale, hard by a Forrest side,
(Vnder the shaddow of a loftie Pine,)
Not far from whence a trickling streame did glide,
Did nature by her secret art combine,
A pleasant Arbour, of a spreading Vine:
Wherein Art stroue with nature to compaire,