That paultrie sprite of low contracting lust
Would fit my soul as if ’t were made for ’t just.
Then should I with my fellow bird or brute
So strangely metamorphis’d, either ney
Or bellow loud: or if ’t may better sute
Chirp out my joy pearch’d upon higher spray.
My passions fond with impudence rehearse,
Immortalize my madnesse in a verse.
This is the summe of thy deceiving boast
That I vain ludenesse highly should admire,