Chapter 185 of 1414 · 40 words · ~1 min read

I.

My Lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble slave complain, How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams In flaming summer-pride, Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, And drink my crystal tide.