10Like that the sooty Indian turns.
I'll serve the night, and there confin'd
Wish thee less fair, or else more kind.
I prithee, &c.] Part of this is very neat and good, but it tails off.
Sonnet.
Dry those fair, those crystal eyes,
Which like growing fountains rise
To drown their banks. Grief's sullen brooks
Would better flow in furrow'd looks.