To the Queen

Goddess of youth, and lady of the spring,Most fit to be the consort to a king,Be pleas'd to rest you in this sacred groveBeset with myrtles, whose each leaf drops love.

Many a sweet-fac'd wood-nymph here is seen,Of which chaste order you are now the queen:Witness their homage when they come and strewYour walks with flowers, and give their crowns to you.Your leafy throne, with lily-work possess,And be both princess here and poetess.