Thyrsis' Praise of his Mistress

On a hill that graced the plain,
Thyrsis sat, a comely swain,
Comelier swain ne'er graced a hill ;
Whilst his flock that wander'd nigh,
Cropp'd the green grass busily,
Thus he tuned his oaten quill.

Ver hath made the pleasant field
Many several odours yield.
Odours aromatical ;
From fair Astra's cherry lip
Sweeter smells for ever skip,
They in pleasing passen all.

Leafy groves now mainly ring
With each sweet bird's sonnetting,
Notes that make the echoes long ;
But when Astra tunes her voice.
All the mirthful birds rejoice,
And are listening to her song.
Fairly spreads the damask rose,
Whose rare mixture doth disclose
Beauties pencils cannot feign ;
Yet if Astra pass the bush,
Roses have been seen to blush,
She doth all thir beauties stain-
Phoebus shining bright in sky
Gilds the floods, heats mountains high,
With his beams' all-quick'ning fire ;
Astra's eyes, most sparkling ones.
Strikes a heat in hearts of stones.

And inflames them with desire.
Fields are blest with flow'ry wreath.
Air is blest when she doth breathe ;
Birds make happy ev'ry grove.
She each bird when she doth sing ;
Phoebus heat to earth doth bring,
She makes marble fall in love.
Those, blessings of the earth, we swains do call ;
Astra can bless those blessings, earth and all.