An heap of earth he hoorded up on high,
Enclosing it with banks on every side,
And thereupon did raise full busily
A little mount, of green turfs edifide;
And on the top of all, that passers by
Might it behold, the tomb he did provide
Of smoothest marble-stone, in order set,
That never might his lucky scape forget.
And round about he taught sweet flowres to grow,
The rose, engrained in pure scarlet dye,
The lilly fresh, and violet below,
The marigold, and chearful rosemary,
The Spartan myrtle, whence sweet gum does flow,
The purple hyacinth, and fresh costmary,
And saffron, sought for in Cilician soil,
And laurel, th' ornament of Phoebus' toil;
Fresh Rhododaphne, and the sabine flowre
Matching the wealth of th' antient frankincence,
And pallid ivy, building his own bowre,
And box, yet mindful of his old offence,
Red amaranthus, luckless paramour,
Ox-eye, still green, and bitter patience;
Ne wants there pale Narciss, that in a well
Seeing his beauty, in love with it fell.