Uturvande

Earth now is greene, and heaven is blew,
Lively Spring which makes all new,
Iolly Spring, doth enter;
Sweete yong sun-beames doe subdue
Angry, agèd Winter.

Blasts are milde, and seas are calme,
Every meadow flowes with balme,
The Earth weares all her riches;
Harmonious birdes sing such a psalme,
As eare and heart bewitches.

Reserve (sweet Spring) this Nymph of ours,
Eternall garlands of thy flowers,
Greene garlands never wasting;
In her shall last our State’s faire Spring,
Now and for ever flourishing,
As long as Heaven is lasting.

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