SWEET Echo, sweetest Nymph that liv'st unseen             Within thy airy shell           By slow Meander's margent green,     And in the violet imbroider'd vale           Where the love-lorn Nightingale   Nightly to thee her sad Song mourneth well.   Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Pair           That likest thy Narcissus are?             O if thou have           Hid them in som flowry Cave,             Tell me but where   Sweet Queen of Parly, Daughter of the Sphear!   So maist thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all Heav'ns Harmonies!