Has it not long been known, the whole world wide,
A wild swan is a prince of faerie,
Who comes in such disguise to choose his bride
From those of humble lot and tame careers,
Of whom I now require some punctual tears.
Wherefore, I say, let every scullion-wench
Grieve, nor the dairy-maid from sobs refrain;
The sad postmistress, too, should feel the wrench,
And the lone tweeny of her loss complain;
Let one—let all afflict the listening spheres: