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[Welcome to the Grove]
Welcome, welcome, to the GroveWelcome, welcome, to the Grove, these bowers, this embrodred bed of flowers; here with a Song, more sweet than long, we wil beguile, we wil beguile, the sliding houres:
See a new spring, & ev'ry plant, which of perfection finds a want, doth from that cheek & from that eye crave & receive a new supply,
The Sun observing Marygold, that with his light her beams unfold: Those Tulips a New way doe seek, to stock their mixtures from her cheek
Those violets drooping neare to death, take life and odour from her breath
Whilst the whol quire of birds rejoyce to improve their warbling from her voice: Then all must grant heer's to be seen, Beauties & Musicks Magazene.
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