(5) And beares it to hir hiue vnhurt, When spider trod, dies in the durt.
Gramercie wench (quoth she) that first begoon, Each one me seemes hath quit hir selfe right well, And now since that our riddles all are doon, (10) Let vs go sing the flowre of sweetest smell: Well may it fare, wherewith each tooke a part, And thus they soong, all with a merie hart.
Blest be the ground that first brought forth the flowre, Whose name vntolde, but vertues not vnknowne: +(15) Happie the hand, whom God shall giue the powre, To plucke this flowre, and take it for his owne: Oh heauenly stalke, that staines all where it growes: From whom more sweet, than sweetest hony flowes.
Oh sweete of sweetes, the sweetest sweete that is: (20) Oh flowre of flowres, that yeelds so sweete a sent: Oh sent so sweete, as when the head shall misse: Oh heauens what hart but that will sore lament: God let thee spring, and flourish so each howre, As that our sweetes may neuer turne to sowre.
(25) For we with sweetes doe feede our fancies so, With sweetes of sight, and sweetnes of conceit, That we may wish that it may euer groe, Amid delights where we desire to wait, Vpon the flowre that pleaseth euerie eie, (30) And glads each hart; God let it neuer die.