[XXVII. Come sable night]
Come sable night, put on thy mourning stoale
Come sable night, put on thy mourning stoale,
And help Amintas sadly to condole, to condole, sadly to condole, Behold,
the Sunne hath shut his golden eye, The day, the day is spent, And shades, and
shades faire lights supply, All things in sweet repose,
their labours close, Onely Amintas, Amintas,
waft's his houres in wayling, in wayling,
Whilst all his hopes doe faint, and life is fayling, whil'st all
his hopes doe faint and life is fayling. and life is fayling.
