"Where my high steeples whilom usde to stand, On which the lordly faulcon wont to towre, There now is but an heap of lyme and sand For the shriche-owle to build her balefull bowre: 130 And where the nightingale wont forth to powre Her restles plaints, to comfort wakefull lovers, There now haunt yelling mewes and whining plovers.

245 For she out of her secret threasury Plentie of riches forth on him will powre, Even heavenly riches, which there hidden ly Within the closet of her chastest bowre, Th'eternall portion of her precious dowre, 250 Which Mighty God hath given to her free, And to all those which thereof worthy bee.

By this the Night forth from the darksome bowre Of Herebus her teemed* steedes gan call, And laesie Vesper in his timely

Thereof it comes that these faire soules which have The most resemblance of that heavenly light 121 Frame to themselves most beautifull and brave Their fleshly bowre, most fit for their delight, And the grosse matter by a soveraine might Temper so trim, that it may well be seene 125 A pallace fit for such a virgin queene.

For love is a celestiall harmonie Of likely* harts composd of** starres concent, Which ioyne together in sweete sympathie, To work each others ioy and true content, 200 Which they have harbourd since their first descent Out of their heavenly bowres, where they did see And know ech other here belov'd to bee.

Sweete Quiet harbours in his harmeles head, And perfect Pleasure buildes her ioyous bowre, 135 Free from sad cares, that rich mens hearts devowre.

The verie nature of the place, resounding 185 With gentle murmure of the breathing ayre, A pleasant bowre with all delight abounding In the fresh shadowe did for them prepayre, To rest their limbs with wearines redounding.