A Pastorall Hymne

Happy Choristers of Aire,
Who by your nimble flight draw neare
His throne, whose wondrous story
And unconfined glory
Your notes still Caroll, whom your sound
And whom your plumy pipes rebound.

Yet do the lazy Snailes no lesse
The greatnesse of our Lord confesse,
And those whom weight hath chain'd
And to the Earth restrain'd,
Their ruder voices do as well,
Yea and the speechlesse Fishes tell.

Great Lord, from whom each Tree receaves,
Then paies againe as rent, his leaves;
Thou dost in purple set
The Rose and Violet,
And giv'st the sickly Lilly white,
Yet in them all, thy name dost write.