Whose swains in shepherd’s gray and girls in Lincoln green,
Whilst some the ring of bells, and some the bagpipes play,
Dance many a merry round, and many a hydegy.[32]
I envy, any brook should in my pleasure share,
Yet for my dainty pikes, I am without compare.
No land floods can me force to over proud a height;
Nor am I in my course too crooked or too streight;
My depths fall by descents, too long nor yet too broad,
My fords with pebbles, clear as orient pearls, are strow’d,
My gentle winding banks with sundry flowers are dress’d,