Deid. Enough. Now while the Dryads of the hill
Interpret to the creatures our good will,
Listen, and I will tell you a new game
That we can play together.—As hither I came,
I marked that in the hazel copse below,
Where we so oft have hidden and loved to go
To hear the night-bird, or to take unseen
Our noontide walks beneath the tangled screen,
The woodcutter hath been with cruel blade,
And of the tasselled plumes his strewage made: