See the day begins to break, 
And the light shoots like a streak 
Of subtil fire, the wind blows cold, 
Whilst the morning doth unfold; 
Now the Birds begin to rouse, 
And the Squirril from the boughs 
Leaps to get him Nuts and fruit; 
The early Lark that erst was mute, 
Carrols to the rising day 
Many a note and many a lay: 
Therefore here I end my watch, 
Lest the wandring swain should catch 
Harm, or lose himself. Amo. Ah me!