Second Song.
A Dialogue betweene Nouall, and Beaumelle.
Man.
Set Phoebus, set, a fayrer sunne doth rise,
From the bright Radience of my Mrs. eyes
Then euer thou begat’st. I dare not looke,
Each haire a golden line, each word a hooke,
The more I striue, the more I still am tooke. [5]
Wom.
Fayre seruant, come, the day these eyes doe lend
To warme thy blood, thou doest so vainely spend.
Come strangled breath.
Man.
What noate so sweet as this,
That calles the spirits to a further blisse?
Wom.
Yet this out-sauours wine, and this Perfume. [10]
Man.
Let’s die, I languish, I consume.