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And for feather, he did wear.
Old Nisus' fatal purple hair.
The sword they girded on his thigh,
Was smallest blade of finest rye.
A pair of buskins they did bring
Of the "cow lady's" coral wing;
Powdered o'er with spots of jet,
And lined with purple violet.
His belt was made of myrtle leaves
Plaited in small curious threaves;
Beset with amber cowslip studs,
And fringed about with daisy buds.
In which his bugle horn was hung
Made of the babbling ECHO'S tongue;
Which set unto his moon-burned lip,
He winds; and then his fairies skip.
At that, the lazy dawn 'gan sound,
And each did trip a fairy round.
