Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph that liv'st unseen
            Within thy airy shell
          By slow Meander's margent green,
    And in the violet imbroider'd vale
          Where the love-lorn Nightingale
  Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well.
  Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Pair
          That likest thy Narcissus are?
            O if thou have
          Hid them in som flowry Cave,
            Tell me but where
  Sweet Queen of Parly, Daughter of the Sphear!
  So maist thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heav'ns Harmonies!