Should listen, and in silence welcome death:
And ravisht Nightingales, striving too high
To reach thee, in the emulation dye.
And thus there will be left no bird to sing
Farewell to th' Waters, welcome to the Spring.
To a Wanton.
In vaine faire sorceresse, thy eyes speake charmes,
In vaine thou mak'st loose circles with thy armes.