John Ward - Upon a bank - текст песни (слова)

Upon a bank with roses set about,
 Where pretty turtles, joining bill to bill,
 And gentle springs steal softly murmuring out,
 Washing the foot of pleasure's sacred hill;
 There little Love sore wounded lies,
 His bow and arrows broken,
 Bedewed with tears from Venus' eyes,
 O grievous to be spoken.