Yes, yes, 'tis Cloris sings, 'tis she; 
Mark how the Nymphs and Shepheards all 
Flock to her: so the Master Bee 
The swarm leads with his awfull call; 
So to the Thracian Lyre the floods 
Resorted, and the listning woods: 
So shoals of Dolphins on the green wav's spring, 
When Doris or her Sea-born daughters sing. 
And so her Notes ther hearts benum: 
One looks pale, others eyes ore flow 
With tears of pleasure, perhaps some, 
Distill from sad hearts, teares of woe; 
But as if fetter'd in a chain 
To soft their passions felt no paine, 
Shee stops no sooner, but th'inchanted throng 
Straight cry, sweet Cloris sing an other song.