Lute and Song.
1.
Dearest do not you delay me,
Since thou knowest I must be gone;
Wind and Tide 'tis thought doth stay me,
But 'tis wind that must be blown
From that breath, whose native smell
Indian Odours far excel.
2.
Oh then speak thou fairest fair,
Kill not him that vows to serve thee,
But perfume this neighbouring Air;
Else dull silence sure will starve me:
'Tis a word that's quickly spoken,
Which being restrained a heart is broken.
Enter Amaranta.
Amar.
He keeps very close: Lord, how I long to see him!
A Lute strook handsomely, a voice too; I'le hear that:
These Verses are no Law, they sound too sweetly,