Clean runs the thread; if not, ’tis thrown away,
Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song;
Song, fashionably fruitless; such as stains
The fancy, and unhallow’d passion fires;
Chiming her saints to Cytherea’s[8] fane. 460
Know’st thou, Lorenzo! what a friend contains? 461
As bees mix’d nectar draw from fragrant flowers,
So men from friendship, wisdom and delight;
Twins tied by Nature, if they part, they die.
Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach?