O happy Tithon! if thou know'st thy hap,
And valuest thy wealth, as I my want,
Then need'st thou not-which ah! I grieve to grant-
Repine at Jove, lull'd in his leman's lap: ...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.