If teares could wash the ill away, A pearle for each wet bead I’d pa… But as dew’d corne the fuller grow… So water’d eyes but swell our woes… II.

WERE it that you so shun me 'cau… (Cruels’t) a fellow in your wretch… Or that you take some small ease i… Torments, to heare another sadly g… I were most happy in my paines, to…

Here, here, oh here! EURIDICE, Here was she slaine; Her soule 'still’d through a veine… The gods knew lesse That time divinitie,

I SAW a little Diety, Minerva in Epitomy, Whom Venus at first blush, surpri… Tooke for her winged wagge disguis… But viewing then whereas she made

And why an honour’d ragged shirt,… Like tatter’d ensigns, all its bod… Should it be swathed in a vest so… It were enough to set the child on… Dishevell’d queen[s] should strip…

I laugh and sing, but cannot tell Whether the folly on’t sounds well… But then I groan, Methinks, in tune; Whilst grief, despair and fear dan…

TELL me, ye subtill judges in lo… Inform me, which hath most inricht… This diamonds greatnes, or its cla… II. Ye cloudy spark lights, whose vast…

CHORUS. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU… THIS LANGUAGE WITHOU… How often have my tears Invaded your soft ears,

Introth, I do my self perswade, That the wilde boy is grown a man, And all his childishnesse off laid… E’re since LUCASTA did his fir… H’ has left his apish jigs,

I’m un-ore-clowded, too! free from… The blind and late Heaven’s-eyes… Obscured with the false fires of h… Not half those souls are lightned… Unhappy murmurers, that still repi…

Now fie upon that everlasting life… She hates! Ah me! It makes me m… As if love fir’d his torch at a mo… Or with his joyes e’re crown’d the… Oh, let me live and shout, when I…

You are deceiv’d; I sooner may, d… Seat a dark Moor in Cassiopea’s c… Or on the glow-worm’s uselesse lig… Bestow the watching flames of nigh… Or give the rose’s breath

Now Whitehall’s in the grave, And our head is our slave, The bright pearl in his close shel… Now the miter is lost, The proud Praelates, too, crost,

Sweet serene skye-like Flower, Haste to adorn her Bower: From thy long clowdy bed, Shoot forth thy damaske head. II.

Lucasta, frown, and let me die, But smile, and see, I live; The sad indifference of your eye Both kills and doth reprieve. You hide our fate within its scree…