And we wil all the pleasures prove
That vallies, Groves, or hils, or fields,
Or woods and steepie mountains yeelds.
Where we will sit upon the Rocks,
And see the Shepherds feed our flocks,
By shallow Rivers, to whose falls
Mellodious birds sing madrigals.
And I wil make thee beds of Roses,
And then a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a Kirtle,