_ 140
Cloe. _Giue thy Invention wing,
And let her flert and fling,
Till downe the Rocks she ding,
For that I care not._
Naijs. _This presence delights me,
My freedome inuites me,
The Season excytes me,
In Rime to be merry._
Cloe. _And I beyond measure,
Am rauisht with pleasure, 150
To answer each Ceasure,
Untill thou beist weary._
Naijs. _Behold the Rosye Dawne,
Rises in Tinsild Lawne,
And smiling seemes to fawne,
Vpon the mountaines._
Cloe. _Awaked from her Dreames,
Shooting foorth goulden Beames
Dansing vpon the Streames
Courting the Fountaines._ 160
Naijs. _These more then sweet Showrets,
Intice vp these Flowrets,
To trim vp our Bowrets,
Perfuming our Coats._
Cloe. _Whilst the Birds billing
Each one with his Dilling
The thickets still filling
With Amorous Noets._
Naijs. _The Bees vp in hony rould,
More then their thighes can hould, 170
Lapt in their liquid gould,
Their Treasure vs Bringing._
Cloe. _To these Rillets purling
Vpon the stones Curling,
And oft about wherling,
Dance tow'ard their springing._
Naijs.
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