If mourning so grieve, what from feast would take place?
He weeps; but he hopes you’ll believe not his tears;
And, out of affection, not lessen his fears.
He loves your great kindness, your anger as well.
He equally dotes on those opposites fell.
The thorn escape should he, and visit the rose,
He’d warble as nightingale, moved by love’s throes.25
Most wondrous this bird’s strangest use of his bill;
With thorns, as with roseleaves, he would his mouth fill.
Not nightingale this; fiery dragon it is;