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The Song on Saturday at hir Highnesse entrie, soong on the great Stage that was next the Market place, by the Waytes and best voyces in the Citie.

The deaw of heauen droppes this day
on dry and barren ground,
Wherefore let frutefull heartes I saye
at Drumme and Trumpet sound
Yeelde that is due, shew that is meete,
to make our ioy the more,
In our good hope, and hir great prayse,
we neuer saw before.
The Sunne doth shine where shade hath bin,
long darkenesse brought vs day,
The Starre of comfort now coms in,
and heere a while will stay.
Ring out the belles, plucke vp your sprightes,
and dresse your houses gay,
Runne in for floures to straw the streetes,
and make what ioy you may.
The deaw of Heauen. &c.


Full many a Winter haue we seene,
and many stormes withall,
Since heere we saw a King or Queene
in pomp and Princely pall.
Wherefore make feast, and banket still,
and now to triumph fall,
With dutie let vs shew good will,
to gladde both great and small.
The deaw of Heauen. &c.
The Realme throughout will ring of this,
and sundry Regions moe
Will say, full great our fortune is,
when our good hap they knoe.
O Norwich, heere the well spring runnes,
whose vertue still doth floe,
And loe this day doth shine two Sunnes
within thy walles also.
The deaw of Heauen. &c.