University of Virginia Library

The third Song.

[What mak's me so vnnimbly ryse]

MERCVRY.
What mak's me so vnnimbly ryse,
That did descend so fleete?
There is no vp-hill in the skyes;
Clouds stay not feathered feete.

CHORVS.
Thy wings are sing'd: and thou canst fly
But slowly now, swift MERCVRY.

MERCVRY.
Some Lady heere, is sure too blame
That from Loves starry skyes,
Hath shot some Beame, or sent some flame,
Like Lightning, from her Eyes.

CHORVS.
Taxe not the Starrs, with what the Sunne,
Too neere aproch't (insens't) hath done.

MERCVRY.
I'le rowle me in Auroras Dew,
Or lye in Tethis bed;
Or from coole Iris begge a few,
Pure Opale shewrs new shed.

CHORVS.
Nor Dew, nor shewers, nor sea can slake
Thy quenchlesse heate, but Lethes lake.