With fragrant flowers we strew the way,
And make this our chief holiday;
For though this clime were blest of yore,
Yet was it never proud before.
O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
Accept of our unfeigned joy!
Now th' air is sweeter than sweet balm,
And satyrs dance about the palm;
Now earth, with verdure newly dight,
Gives perfect signs of her delight.
O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
Accept of our unfeigned joy!
Now birds recall new harmony,
And trees do whistle melody;
Now everything that nature breeds,
Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds.
O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
Accept of our unfeigned joy!
Thomas Watson.