How can I turne to jollitie
My ill-strung Harpe, and court the delicate?
How can I but disdaine
The emptie fallacies of mirth;
And in my midnight thoughts retaine,
How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?
Fond youth! too long I playd
The wanton with a false delight.
Which when I toucht, I found a shade
That onely wrought on th' error of my sight.