The bright Lilly, as if day,
Parted with her, fades away.
Violets hang their heads, and lose
All their beauty. That the Rose
A sad part in sorrow beares,
Witnesse all those dewy teares,
Which as Pearle, or Dyamond like,
Swell upon her blushing cheeke.
All things mourne, but oh behold
How the wither'd Marigold