7.

Spring, goddess, is it thou, desired long? And art thou girded round with this young train? - If ever I did do thee ease in song, Now of thy grace let me one meed obtain, And list thou to one plain. Oh, keep still in thy train After the years when others therefrom fade, This tiny, well-beloved maid! To whom the gate of my heart’s fortalice, With all which in it is, And the shy self who doth therein immew him ’Gainst what loud leagurers battailously woo him, I, bribed traitor to him, Set open for one kiss.

Then suffer, Spring, thy children, that lauds they should upraise To Sylvia, this Sylvia, her sweet, feat ways; Their lovely labours lay away, And trick them out in holiday, For syllabling to Sylvia; And that all birds on branches lave their mouths with May, To bear with me this burthen, For singing to Sylvia.