You that on Stars do look,
Arrest not there your sight,
Though Natures fairest Book,
And signed with propitious light;
Our Blessing now is more Divine,
Then Planets that at Noon did shine.
To thee alone be praise,
From whom our Joy descends,
Thou Chearer of our Days,
Of Causes first, and last of Ends;
To thee this May we sing, by whom
Our Roses from the Lilies bloom.
Upon this Royal Flower,
Sprung from the chastest Bed,
Thy glorious sweetness shower,
And first let Myrtles Crown his Head;
Then Palms and Lawrels wreath'd between;
But let the Cypress late be seen.
And so succeeding men,
When they the fulness see
Of this our Joy, shall then
In consort joyn as well as we,
To celebrate his Praise above,
That spreads our Land with fruits of Love.