Come hither, fools, and blush you stay so long
From being blessed.
And mad men, worse than you, that suffer wrong,
Yet seek no rest!...
And in William Davenant's:
Wake, all the dead! What ho! what ho!
How soundly they sleep whose pillows lie low!
They mind not poor lovers, who walk above
On the decks of the world in storms of love.
No whisper now nor glance shall pass