Turne to a Laurell, and propheticke be.
Which shall in its first Oracle divine,
That courteous Fate decree Castara mine.
To the Dew,
In hope to see Castara walking.
Bright Dew which dost the field adorne
As th' earth to welcome in the morne,
Would hang a jewell on each corne.
Did not the pittious night, whose eares
Have oft beene conscious of my feares