While Lilies in his bosome grow,
No North-winde shall the corne infest,
But the soft spirit of the East,
Our sent with perfum'd banquets feast.
A Satyre here and there shall trip,
In hope to purchase leave to sip
Sweete Nectar from a Fairies lip.
The Nimphs with quivers shall adorne
Their active sides, and rouse the morne
With the shrill musicke of their horne.