Line 133.
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
Line 136.
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out.
IL PENSEROSO.
Line 39.
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.
Line 61.
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!