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Page 131:-
Where I'll tell you (while none mind us)
We throw th' House quite out at Windows;
Nought makes them or me ought sorry,
They dance lively with John Dory:
Holy Brethren with their Poet
Sing, nor care they much who know it.
Now to Staveley strait repair I,
Where sweet Birds do hatch their airy
Arbours, Oziers freshly showing,
With soft mossy Rind o'ergrowing:
For Woods, Air, ALE, all excelling,
Would'st thou have a neater Dwelling?
Mirtil. Be't so, Faustulus! there repose
thee,
Cheer thy Country with thy Poesy
Live, farewel, as thou deservest,
Rich in Arethusa's Harvest:
Under th' Beach while Shepherds rank thee
Zephyrus bless thee. Faust.] I do thank
thee.
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