Come, sit beneath this shade with me,
My lovely maid, how fair the tree!
Its tender branches wide prevail,
Obedient to each breathing gale;
Summer's loom industrious weaves
In mazy veins the silken leaves,
Soft as the milky veins I view,
O'er thy fair breast meandering blue;
Hard by a fount with murmuring noise
Runs a sweet persuasive voice;—
What lover, say, my lovely maid,
So foolish as to pass this shade?