What theme ye lately sang: for though sweet music
Needs no interpretation, yet the thought
That gives occasion to the smile of love
Is dear itself; and I am like a lover
Wondering what fancy ’twas, that bred a strain
Of such deliberate joy.
Ch.Forbid the thought,
Lady: the sea, with whose expansive sight
Thou thoughtest to rejoice our prisoned eyes,
Doth not dissever us from our lost homes