.
.
               Song

How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
     And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the prince of love beheld,
     Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew'd me lilies for my hair,
     And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair.
     Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
     And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,

     And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
     Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
     And mocks my loss of liberty. 

<......................>