And here by curious men ’t may be expected
That I this knot with judgement grave decide,
And then proceed to what else was objected.
But, ah! What mortall wit may dare t’ areed
Heavens counsels in eternall horrour hid?
And Cynthius pulls me by my tender ear
Such signes I must observe with wary heed:
Wherefore my restlesse Muse at length forbear.
Thy silver sounded Lute hang up in silence here.