“It was an Hill plaste in an open plaine, That round about was bordered with a wood Of matchlesse hight, that seemed th’ earth to disdaine; In which all trees of honour stately stood, And did all winter as in sommer bud, Spredding pavilions for the birds to bowre, Which in their lower braunches sung aloud; And in their tops the soring hauke did towre, Sitting like king of fowlcs in maicsty and powre.

“And at the foote thereof a gentle flud His silver waves did softly tumble downe, Unmard with ragged mosse or filthy mud; Ne mote wylde beastes, ne mote the ruder clowne, Thereto approch; ne filth mote therein drowne: But Nymphcs and Faeries by the bancks did sit In the woods shade which did the waters crowne, Keeping all noysome things away from it, And to the waters fall tuning their accents fit.