Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/151

Rh My brother chose his bed in flowers to make And lay him down beneath the willow tree, Till driv'n from rule by a familiar foe He drank of dragon's blood, and ended all. Then was I sold to an Ambassador, And overseas, a slave, in alien court I please your princes with my strange array An exile, in a foreign land, en'slav'd, Sure there are many more ill-starr'd than you.

Surely the Golden Age rolls round again Since this fair summer came to bless our shore, Each day brings a fresh wonder to the birth, Or turns some wonted beauty fairer still, More meekly musical these crooning doves