Tho’ Meadowfield[62] may boast its sweets,
And meadow sweets its fields adorn;
United, all its scents me greets,
Present my Rose without a thorn.
Heard you the lilting, &c.
Tho’ Flotterton[63] may boast its maids,
And on Twelfth Eve all others scorn:
I envy not their lusty blades,
Present my Rose without a thorn.
Heard you the lilting, &c.