Iohn Attey

T H E
F I R S T   B O O K E
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VII. Bright Starre of beauty, on whose Temples sit.

  Bright Starre of beauty, on whose Temples sit, 
  Appolloes wisdome, and Dame Pallas wit, 
  O what faire garland, worthy is to fit, 
  Thy faire blest browes that compasse in all merrit ? 

  Thou shalt not Crowned be with vulgar Bayes, 
  Because for thee it is a Crowne too base : 
  Appolloes Tree can yeeld thee but small praise,
  It is too stale a Vesture for that place. 

  The Birds, the Beasts, their Goddesse doe thee call. 
  Thou art their Keeper, Thou preseru'st them all : 
  Thy skill doth equall Pallas, not thy birth, 
  Shee to the Heauens yeelds Musicke, Thou to the Earth. 
    

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