II
Give warmth to these young-hatchèd orphan things,
Which chill with cold to thee for succour creep;
They of my study are the budding springs;
Longer I cannot them in silence keep.
They will be gadding sore against my mind.
But courteous shepherd, if they run astray,
Conduct them that they may the pathway find,
And teach them how the mean observe they may.
Thou shalt them ken by their discording notes,
Their weeds are plain, such as poor shepherds wear;
Unshapen, torn, and ragged are their coats,
Yet forth they wand'ring are devoid of fear.
They which have tasted of the muses' spring,
I hope will smile upon the tunes they sing.
