Flourish ye hillocks, set with fragrant flowers,
So graced with her deity,
Whose eyes bedew you with their pearled showers,
Bewailing love's impiety.
Happy are ye, be prodigal disposed,
Disdain not Love's lamenting,
Let me but kiss those steps where she reposed,
To ease my heart's tormenting.
Then while she flies me, here I lie and languish,
Sounding my sorrows tuned in notes of anguish.