XI.
Sadnesse all the while
Shee sits in such a throne as this,
Can doe nought but smile,
Nor beleeves she Sadnesse is:
Gladnesse it selfe would be more glad,65
To bee made soe sweetly sad.
XII.
There's no need at all,
That the balsom-sweating bough
So coyly should let fall
His med'cinable teares; for now70
Nature hath learnt to' extract a deaw
More soueraign and sweet, from you.
XIII.
Yet let the poore drops weep
(Weeping is the ease of Woe):
Softly let them creep,75
Sad that they are vanquish't so.
They, though to others no releife,
Balsom may be for their own greife.
XIV.
Golden though he be,
Golden Tagus murmures though.80
Were his way by thee,
Content and quiet he would goe;
Soe much more rich would he esteem
Thy syluer, then his golden stream.
XV.
Well does the May that lyes85
Smiling in thy cheeks, confesse
The April in thine eyes;
Mutuall sweetnesse they expresse.
No April ere lent kinder showres,
Nor May return'd more faithfull flowres.90