The waxen Pallace of the Bee, We seeking will surprise 190 The curious workmanship to see, Of her full laden thighes. Wee'll suck the sweets out of the Combe, And make the gods repine: As they doe feast in _Ioues_ great roome, To see with what we dine. Yet when there haps a honey fall, Wee'll lick the sirupt leaues: And tell the Bees that their's is gall, To this vpon the Greaues. 200 The nimble Squirrell noting here, Her mossy Dray that makes, And laugh to see the lusty Deere Come bounding ore the brakes. The Spiders Webb to watch weele stand, And when it takes the Bee, Weele helpe out of the Tyrants hand, The Innocent to free. Sometime weele angle at the Brooke, The freckled Trout to take, 210 With silken Wormes, and bayte the hooke, Which him our prey shall make. Of medling with such subtile tooles, Such dangers that enclose, The Morrall is that painted Fooles, Are caught with silken showes. And when the Moone doth once appeare, Weele trace the lower grounds, When _Fayries_ in their Ringlets there Do daunce their nightly rounds. 220 And haue a Flocke of Turtle Doues, A guard on vs to keepe, A witnesse of our honest loues, To watch vs till we sleepe. Which spoke I felt such holy fires To ouerspred my breast, As lent life to my Chast desires And gaue me endlesse rest. By _Cynthia_ thus doe I subsist, On earth Heauens onely pride, 230 Let her be mine, and let who list, Take all the world beside. FINIS. THE SHEPHEARDS SIRENA