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.