Wake, wake, Quivera, our soft rest must cease,
And fly together with our Country's peace;
No more must we sleep under Plantain shade,
Which neither Heat could peirce, nor Cold invade;
Where bount'ous Nature never feels decay,
And op'ning Buds drive falling Fruits away.
The Fairy Queen, Z. 629, Suite II: IV. Chaconne
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