FROM beauteous @3Windsor@1's high and story'd Halls, Where @3Edward@1's Chiefs start from the glowing Walls, To my low Cott, from ivory Beds of State, Pleas'd I return unenvious of the Great. So the Bee ranges o'er the vary'd Scenes Of Corn, of Heaths, of Fallows, and of Greens, Pervades the Thicket, soars above the Hill, Or murmurs to the Meadows murm'ring Rill; Now haunts old hollow'd Oaks, deserted Cells, Now seeks the low Vale-Lilly's silver Bells; Sips the warm Fragrance of the Greenhouse Bow'rs, And tastes the Myrtle and the Citron-flow'rs; At length returning to the wonted Comb, Prefers to All his little Straw-built Home. |