Through rare Idæas and inventions strange,
And ever doth enjoy her joyful Spring,
And Sweeter than the Nightingale doth sing.
131.
O that I might that singing Swallow hear,
To whom I owe my service and my love!
His sugared tunes would so enchant mine ear,
And in my mind such sacred fury move,
As I should knock at heaven's great gate above,