And sniff at will the heav’nly-perfum’d breeze.
See how the little rev’lers romp and fall,
Whilst some are racing for the sky-thrown ball:
A stripling, heedless of th’ obscurèd root
Of some large chestnut, trips his nimble foot,
And stumbles; but ’tis only o’er a mound,
Clad with Earth’s velvet, so no harm is found.
There (laughingly) th’ expectant bride,
Is sporting lovingly with him—her pride:
Then sprightly tripping to another, tries