“Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph that liv'st unseen Within thy airy shell By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet imbroider'd vale Where the love-lorn Nightingale Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well. Canst thou not tell me of a gently Pair That likest thy Narcissus are? O if thou have Hid them in som flowry Cave, Tell me but where, Sweet Queen of Parly, Daughter of the Sphear, So maist thou be translated tothe skies, And give resounding grace to all Heav'n's Harmonies.”
