With fragrant flowers we strew the way,
And make this our chief holiday:
For though this clime were blessed of yore,
Yet was it never proud before.
O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
Accept of our unfeignëd joy!

Now th' air is sweeter than sweet balm,
And satyrs dance about the palm;
Now earth, with verdure newly dight,
Gives perfect sign of her delight.
O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
Accept of our unfeignëd joy!

Now birds record new harmony,
And trees do whistle melody;
Now every thing that nature breeds
Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds.
O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
Accept of our unfeignëd joy!