That cunningly divides the ayre?
Why doth the pallate buy the choyce
Delights oth' sea, to enrich her fare?
As soone as I, my eare obey
The Eccho's lost even with the breath.
And when the sewer takes away
I'me left with no more taste, then death.
Be curious in pursuite of eyes
To procreate new loves with thine;
Satiety makes sence despise