Unto my plaintive pleas in verses made;
Then would I seek for queen-apples unripe;
To give my Rosalind, and in summer shade
Dight gaudy garlands was my common trade,
To crown her golden locks; but years more ripe,
And loss of her, whose love as life I weigh'd,
Those weary wanton toys away did wipe.
HOB. Colin, to hear thy rhymes and roundelays,
Which thou wert wont on wasteful hills to sing,
I more delight than lark in summer days,