Rears her own palms, which never fade!
PART, IV.
Henry, O leave, whilst youth is ours,[[30]]
And health leads on the fleeting hours,
O leave awhile the court you grace,
And urge with me the sylvan chase!
Oft, as I bathe in morning’s breath,
Ere wakes the plover on the heath,
Ere the sun robs the woodbine’s smell,
Or dries the fox-glove’s purple bell,