How sweet I roam'd from field to field,



And tasted all the summer's pride,



'Till I the prince of love beheld,



Who in the sunny beams did glide!







He shew'd me lilies for my hair,



And blushing roses for my brow;



He led me through his gardens fair,



Where all his golden pleasures grow.







With sweet May dews my wings were wet,



And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage;



He caught me in his silken net,



And shut me in his golden cage.







He loves to sit and hear me sing,



Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;



Then stretches out my golden wing,



And mocks my loss of liberty.





