Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers
Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers;
80 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
My bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down,
Rich scarf to my proud earth;—why hath thy queen
Summon’d me hither, to this [short-grass’d] green?
Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate;
85 And some donation freely to estate
On the blest lovers.
Cer.