Narcissa passing through a pleasant Mead ,
To coole her thirst was to a River led:
When she perceiv'd the lazie streame had lost
Its course, condens'd to Christall by the Frost;
Which had perhaps enamour'd of her sight,
Begg'd of December chains to stop its flight;
But the kinde Sun did with his warmer beames,
Dissolve the Ice into its native streames:
And th'angry little Brook, deny'd by stay,
Was enjoy'd flying; wept, and went away.