From  Bow'r to  Lodge repairs
A Virgin Train compleat with modest Airs:
'Chast  grant our Suit! or shun the Wood,
' Nor stain this sacred Lawn with savage Blood.
' O  if she cou'd persuade,
' Wou'd ask thy Presence, might she ask a Maid.
Here chearful Quires for three auspicious Nights
With Songs prolong the pleasurable Rites:
Here Crouds in Measures lightly-decent rove;
Or seek by Pairs the Covert of the Grove,
Where meeting Greens for Arbours arch above,
And mingling Flowrets strow the Scenes of Love.
Here dancing  shakes her golden Sheaves:
Here  revels, deckt with viny Leaves:
Here Wit's enchanting God in Lawrel crown'd
Wakes all the ravish'd Hours with silver Sound.
Ye Fields, ye Forests, own  Reign,
And  Huntress  shun the Plain.

