O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
Leave not the mansion [so] long tenantless,
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
10 And leave no memory of what it was!
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia;
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain!
What halloing and what stir is this to-day?
These [are my] mates, that make their wills their law,
15 Have some unhappy passenger in chase.
They love me well; yet I have much to do