📔 L'Allegro

Then to the well-trod stage anon, / If Jonsons learned Sock be on, / Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe, / Warble his native Wood-notes wilde,

There on beds of violets blue, / And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew, / Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair, / So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

There, under ebon shades... in dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.

Right against the eastern gate, / Where the great sun begins his state, / Robed in flames, and amber light, / The clouds in thousand liveries dight […].