Say, why, Companion , thus confind,
And to your Fortune so resign'd?

Venus , to whom I did belong,
Gave me to Damon for a Song ,
Where, artless , in his humble Lays
Adonis he attempts to Praise.
In sport by Cloi , t'other day,
From Damon I was stole away:
The Shepherd begs, and prays, and fain
Wou'd have her give me back again;
But Cloi I to him prefer,
And wish, to lead my Life with her;
For here I sport , and feed at Will,
And think, I dwell with Venus still,

On her fair Hand I sit, and eat;
'Tis she her self prepares my Meat;
When I wou'd drink I mount, and sip
Pure Nectar from her fragrant Lip;
Then, overjoy'd, I spread my Wings,
Soon as she Talks , or Plays , and Sings ,
But when she sleeps , I take my Rest
Upon her warm , and downey Breast.
Wou'd you not give, for her Caress ,
The savage Freedom you possess;
The musty Grains which Chance must yield
On Mountain Tops, or in the Field ;
Amidst Alarms of Guns , and Kites ,
Expos'd to Cold and stormy Nights?

Adieu, Companion , I'll away;
It may not here be safe , to stay:
I own, you are a happy Dove ,
While you your gilded Cage can love ;
Yet give me still my musty Grains
On barren Hills, and fallow Plains,
With Danger, Cold , and storms of Wind;
But let my Flight be unconfin'd.