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VI.

Towrd to the ſky, with cliff on cliff ypild,

Fronting the ſunne, a rock fantaſtick roſe;
From every rift the pink and primroſe ſmild,
And redd with bloſſoms hung the wildings boughs;
On middle cliff each flowry ſhrub that blows
On Mayes ſweete morne a fragrant grove diſplayd,
Beauteous and wilde as ever Druid choſe;
From whence a reverend Wizard through the ſhade
Advaunſt to meet my ſteps; for here me ſeemd I ſtrayd.

VII.

White as the ſnow-drop round his temples flowd

A few thin hairs; bright in his eagle eye,
Meint with Heavens lightning, ſocial mildneſſe glowd;
Yet when him liſt queynt was his leer and ſlie,
Yet wondrous diſtant from malignitie;
For ſtill his ſmyle did forcibly diſcloſe
The ſoul of worth and warm hart-honeſtie:
Such winning grace as Age but rare beſtows

Dwelt on his cheeks and lips, though like the withering roſe.