The satyrs' dance
T. Ravenscroft
Round-a, round-a, keep your ring:
To the glorious sun we sing, —
Ho, ho!
He that wears the flaming rays,
And th' imperial crown of bays,
Him with shouts and songs we praise —
Ho, ho!
That in his bounty he'd vouchsafe to grace
The humble sylvans and their shaggy race.