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 How to climb that blessed hill Where Aglaia's fancies dwell, Where exceedings do excell, And in simple truth confess She is that fair shepherdess To whom fairest flocks a-field Do their service duly yield: On whom never Muse hath gazèd But in musing is amazed; Where the honour is too much For their highest thoughts to touch; Thus confess, and get ye gone To your places every one; And in silence only speak When ye find your speech too weak. Blessèd be Aglaia yet, Though the Muses die for it; Come abroad, ye blessèd Muses, Ye that Pallas chiefly chooses, When she would command a creature In the honour of Love's nature, For the sweet Aglaia fair All to sweeten all the air. Is abroad this blessèd day; Haste ye, therefore, come away: And to kill Love's maladies Meet her with your melodies. Flora hath been all about. And hath brought her wardrobe out; With her fairest, sweetest flowers, All to trim up all your bowers. Bid the shepherds and their swains See the beauty of their plains; And command them with their flocks To do reverence on the rocks; Where they may so happy be As her shadow but to see: Bid the birds in every bush Not a bird to be at hush: But to sit, and chirp, and sing To the beauty of the Spring: