Then Love, I beg, when next thou takest thy bow, Thy angry shafts, and dost heart-chasing go, Pass rascal deer, strike me the largest doe.
Whatsoever thou takest in hand, remember the end, and thou shalt never do amiss.
Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry Along the waves dost thou fly? Oh! rather, bird, with me Through this fair land rejoice!