_As little Lambes lift up their snowie sides
When mounting Lark salutes the gray eyed morne—
Sil. As from the Oaken leaves the honie glides
Where nightingales record upon the thorne—
Ge. So rise my thoughts—
Sil. So all my sences cheere—
Ge. When she surveyes my flocks
Sil. And she my Deare.
Ge. Eurymine!
Sil. Eurymine!
Ge. Come foorth—
Sil. Come foorth—