Xlviii

And she herselfe of beautie soveraigne Queene, Fayre Venus° seemde unto his bed to bring Her, whom he waking evermore did weene, To bee the chastest flowre, that ay did spring On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king, Now a loose Leman to vile service bound: And eke the Graces° seemed all to sing, _Hymen Iö Hymen_° dauncing all around, Whilst freshest Flora° her with Yvie girlond crownd.