Led by kind stars one ev'ning to the grove,
I spied my Cynthia in the Walk of Love;
Her heav'nly voice did soon salute my ears,
I heard, methought, the Music of the Spheres.
Those notes on all the birds had laid a spell,
And list'ning 'mongst the rest was Philomel;
Who thinking she, in credit, suffer'd wrong,
Strove, tho' in vain, to equal Cynthia's song
But when herself, in voice, outdone she knew,
Being griev'd, she ceas'd, and from her rival flew,
I stay'd and saw my fair walk round the tree,
And sing her triumph for the victory.
Thus whilst my ears were feasted with delight,
My eyes no less were charm'd at her angelic sight.