Spic'd syllibubs, and cyder of the best:
And to the same down solemnly they sit,
In the fresh shadow of their summer bowers,
With sundry sweets them every way to fit,
The neighb'ring vale despoiled of her flowers.—
When now, at last, as lik'd the shepherd's king,
(At whose command they all obedient were)
Was pointed, who the roundelay should sing,
And who again the under-song should bear."[183:A]