In a myrtle shade

Why should I be bound to thee,

O my lovely Myrtle-tree?

Love, free Love, cannot be bound

To any tree that grows on ground.

O! how sick and weary I

Underneath my Myrtle lie;

Like to dung upon the ground,

Underneath my Myrtle bound.

Oft my Myrtle sigh'd in vain

To behold my heavy chain:

Oft my Father saw us sigh,

And laugh'd at our simplicity.

So I smote him, and his gore

Stain'd the roots my Myrtle bore.

But the time of youth is fled,

And grey hairs are on my head.