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 - Ed. Britten, Holst, Pears / Act 3: "If Love's a Sweet Passion...I Press Her Hand"
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