They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.

Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered sleep.

Each tree Laden with fairest fruit, that hung to th' eye Tempting, stirr'd in me sudden appetite To pluck and eat.