Free Song Lyrics

Yet as she has an itching still,
To mount the great Parnassus hill,
I straightway thither did repair,
But found she never had been there;
That being too divine a place,
For her to chant unhallow’d lays;
When turning quick my eye around
On Tindale’s shore, the wand’rer found,
Where she was taking a survey,
Of all that in her compass lay;
A medley of such objects rose,
Which pen but faintly can disclose;
But being in a merry pin,