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.