He was a Prophet, and fore-sang my love.
[10] If Orpheus did those senslesse creatures stirre,
He was a Prophet, and fore-sang of her. 1634, 1635.
To the right honourable the Earle of Shrewes.[11]
My Muse (great Lord) when last you heard her sing
Did to your Uncles Urne, her off'rings bring:
And if to fame I may give faith, your eares
Delighted in the musicke of her teares.
That was her debt to vertue. And when e're
She her bright head among the clouds shall reare