University of Virginia Library


293

[XXVII. The second part. My throte is sore, my voice is horse with skriking]

My throte is sore, my voice is horse with skriking:
My rests, are sighes, Deep from the hart root fetched:
My song runs all on sharps, & with oft striking,
time on my brest, I shrink with hands out stretched:
Thus still and still I sing, and neare am linning:
For still the close, points to my first beginning.