Lightly she whipped o'er the dales,
Making the woods proud with her presence.
Gently she trod the flowers and they
As gently kiss'd her tender feet.
The birds in their best language bade her welcome,
The clove-foot satyrs singing,
Made music to the fauns adancing,
And both together with an emphasis,
Sang Oriana's praises,
Whilst the adjoining woods with melody,
Did entertain their sweet, sweet harmony.
Thus sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana,
Long live fair Oriana.

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