Thus easy-rob'd, they to the fountain sped

That in the middle of the court up-threw

A stream, high spouting from its liquid bed,

And falling back again in drizzly dew;

There each deep draughts, as deep he thirsted drew;

It was a fountain of nepenthe rare;

Whence, as Dan Homer sings, huge pleasaunce grew,

And sweet oblivion of vile earthly care;

Fair gladsome waking thoughts, and joyous dreams more fair.