The Description of Elizium

A Paradice on earth is found,Though farre from vulgar sight,Which with those pleasures doth aboundThat it Elizium hight.

Where, in Delights that neuer fade,The Muses lulled be,And sit at pleasure in the shadeOf many a stately tree,

Which no rough Tempest makes to reeleNor their straight bodies bowes,Their lofty tops doe neuer feeleThe weight of winters snowes;

In Groues that euermore are greene,No falling leafe is there,But Philomel (of birds the Queene)In Musicke spends the yeare.

The Merle vpon her mertle Perch,There to the Mavis sings,Who from the top of some curld BerchThose notes redoubled rings;

There Daysyes damaske euery placeNor once their beauties lose,That when proud Phoebus hides his faceThemselues they scorne to close.

The Pansy and the Violet here,As seeming to descend,Both from one Root, a very payre,For sweetnesse yet contend,

And pointing to a Pinke to tellWhich beares it, it is loath,To iudge it; but replyes for smellThat it excels them both.

Wherewith displeasde they hang their headsSo angry soone they growAnd from their odoriferous bedsTheir sweets at it they throw.

The winter here a Summer is,No waste is made by time,Nor doth the Autumne euer misseThe blossomes of the Prime.

The flower that Iuly forth doth bringIn Aprill here is seene,The Primrose that puts on the SpringIn Iuly decks each Greene.

The sweets for soueraignty contendAnd so abundant be,That to the very Earth they lendAnd Barke of euery Tree:

Rills rising out of euery Banck,In wild Meanders strayne,And playing many a wanton pranckVpon the speckled plaine,

In Gambols and lascivious GyresTheir time they still bestowNor to their Fountaines none retyres,Nor on their course will goe.

Those Brooks with Lillies brauely deckt,So proud and wanton made,That they their courses quite neglect:And seeme as though they stayde,

Faire Flora in her state to vieweWhich through those Lillies looks,Or as those Lillies leand to shewTheir beauties to the brooks.

That Phoebusin his lofty race,Oft layes aside his beamesAnd comes to coole his glowing faceIn these delicious streames;

Oft spreading Vines clime vp the Cleeues,Whose ripned clusters there,Their liquid purple drop, which driuesA Vintage through the yeere.

Those Cleeues whose craggy sides are cladWith Trees of sundry sutes,Which make continuall summer glad,Euen bending with their fruits,

Some ripening, ready some to fall,Some blossom'd, some to bloome,Like gorgeous hangings on the wallOf some rich princely Roome:

Pomegranates, Lymons, Cytrons, soTheir laded branches bow,Their leaues in number that outgoeNor roomth will them alow.

There in perpetuall Summers shade,Apolloes Prophets sit,Among the flowres that neuer fade,But flowrish like their wit;

To whom the Nimphes vpon their Lyres,Tune many a curious lay,And with their most melodious QuiresMake short the longest day.

The thrice three Virgins heavenly Cleere,Their trembling Timbrels sound,Whilst the three comely Graces thereDance many a dainty Round,

Decay nor Age there nothing knowes,There is continuall Youth,As Time on plant or creatures growes,So still their strength renewth.

The Poets Paradice this is,To which but few can come;The Muses onely bower of blisseTheir Deare Elizium.

Here happy soules, (their blessed bowers,Free from the rude resortOf beastly people) spend the houres,In harmelesse mirth and sport,

Then on to the Elizian plainesApollo doth invite youWhere he prouides with pastorall straines,In Nimphals to delight you.