(As never having felt the warmth of love.)
In uncouth vaults, and the chill shades of night,
Nor biding the bright lustre of thy sight.
With him my fate agrees. Not viewing thee
I'me lost in mists, at best, but meteors see.
To Thames.
Swift in thy watry chariot, courteous Thames,
Hast by the happy error of thy streames,
To kisse the banks of Marlow, which doth show