53Another to the Riuer AnkorCleere Ankor, on whose Siluer-sanded shore,My Soule-shrin’d Saint, my faire Idea lies,Oh blessed Brooke, whose milke-white Swans adore,The Cristall streame refined by her Eyes,Where sweet Myrrh-breathing Zephire in the Spring,Gently distills his Nectar-dropping showres,Where Nightingales in Arden sit and sing,Amongst the daintie dew-impearled flowres;Say thus faire Brooke, when thou shalt see thy Queene,Loe, heere thy Shepheard spent his wandering yeeres;And in these Shades, deare Nymph, he oft hath beene,And heere to Thee he sacrific’d his Teares: Faire Arden, thou my Tempe art alone, And thou, sweet Ankor, art my Helicon.