My Muse In Meads Has Spent Her Many Hours Sitting, And Sorting Several Sorts Of Flowers, To Make For Others Garlands; And To Set On Many A Head Here, Many A Coronet. But Amongst All Encircled Here, Not One Gave Her A Day Of Coronation; Till You, Sweet Mistress, Came And Interwove A Laurel For Her, Ever Young As Love. You First Of All Crown'D Her; She Must, Of Due, Render For That, A Crown Of Life To You.