The Mower To The Glow-Worms

    Ye living lamps, by whose dear light

    The nightingale does sit so late,

    And studying all the summer night,

    Her matchless songs does meditate;

    Ye county comets, that portend

    No war nor prince's funeral,

    Shining unto no higher end

    Than to presage the grass's fall;

    Ye glow-worms, whose officious flame

  To wand'ring mowers shows the way,

  That in the night have lost their aim,

  And after foolish fires do stray;

  Your courteous lights in vain you waste,

  Since Juliana here is come,

  For she my mind hath so displac'd

  That I shall never find my home.

NOTESForm: abab9. officious: zealous.