Look how the sheep, whose rambling steps do stray
From the safe blessing of her shepherd’s eyes,
Eft-soon becomes the unprotected prey
To the wing’d squadron of beleag’ring flies;
Where swelt’red with the scorching beams of day
She frisks from bush to brake, and wildly flies away
From her own self, ev’n of herself afraid;
She shrouds her troubled brows in ev’ry glade
And craves the mercy of the soft removing shade.