Bright Starre of beauty, on whose Temples sit, Appolloes wisdome, and Dame Pallas wit, O what faire garland, worthy is to fit, Thy faire blest browes that compasse in all merrit ? Thou shalt not Crowned be with vulgar Bayes, Because for thee it is a Crowne too base : Appolloes Tree can yeeld thee but small praise, It is too stale a Vesture for that place. The Birds, the Beasts, their Goddesse doe thee call. Thou art their Keeper, Thou preseru'st them all : Thy skill doth equall Pallas, not thy birth, Shee to the Heauens yeelds Musicke, Thou to the Earth.
Online text copyright ©, Harald Lillmeyer