The little birds which sing so sweet 
Are like the angel’s voice, 
Which renders God His praises meet, 
And teach us to rejoice. 
GascoIcng. 1556. 
Come then, Dione, let us range the grove, 
The science of the feathered choirs explore, 
Hear linnets argue, larks descant on love, 
And blame the gloom of solitude no more. 
SHENSTONE. 
