In Groues that euermore are greene, No falling leafe is there, But _Philomel_ (of birds the Queene) In Musicke spends the yeare. The _Merle_ vpon her mertle Perch, There to the _Mavis_ sings, Who from the top of some curld Berch Those notes redoubled rings; 20 There Daysyes damaske euery place Nor once their beauties lose, That when proud _Phœbus_ hides his face Themselues they scorne to close. The Pansy and the Violet here, As seeming to descend, Both from one Root, a very payre, For sweetnesse yet contend, And pointing to a Pinke to tell Which beares it, it is loath, 30 To iudge it; but replyes for smell That it excels them both. Wherewith displeasde they hang their heads So angry soone they grow And from their odoriferous beds Their sweets at it they throw. The winter here a Summer is, No waste is made by time, Nor doth the Autumne euer misse The blossomes of the Prime. 40 The flower that Iuly forth doth bring In Aprill here is seene, The Primrose that puts on the Spring In Iuly decks each Greene. The sweets for soueraignty contend And so abundant be, That to the very Earth they lend And Barke of euery Tree: Rills rising out of euery Banck, In wild Meanders strayne, 50 And playing many a wanton pranck Vpon the speckled plaine, In Gambols and lascivious Gyres Their time they still bestow Nor to their Fountaines none retyres, Nor on their course will goe. Those Brooks with Lillies brauely deckt, So proud and wanton made, That they their courses quite neglect: And seeme as though they stayde, 60 Faire _Flora_ in her state to viewe Which through those Lillies looks, Or as those Lillies leand to shew Their beauties to the brooks. That _Phœbus_in his lofty race, Oft layes aside his beames And comes to coole his glowing face In these delicious streames; Oft spreading Vines clime vp the Cleeues, Whose ripned clusters there, 70 Their liquid purple drop, which driues A Vintage through the yeere. Those Cleeues whose craggy sides are clad With Trees of sundry sutes, Which make continuall summer glad, Euen bending with their fruits, Some ripening, ready some to fall, Some blossom'd, some to bloome, Like gorgeous hangings on the wall Of some rich princely Roome: 80 _Pomegranates_, _Lymons_, _Cytrons_, so Their laded branches bow, Their leaues in number that outgoe Nor roomth will them alow.