It was a chosen plott of fertile land, 

 Emongst wide waves sett like a little nest, 

 As if it had by Nature's cunning hand 

 Bene choycely picked cut from all the rest, 

 And laid forth for ensample of the best; 

 No dainty flowre or hcrbe that growes on grownd. 

 No arborett with painted blossomes drest 

 And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd 

 To bud out faire and throwe her sweete smels al ai'ownd. 



Faeby Qtjeene, Book II. cant. 6, stan. 12. 



