University of Virginia Library



[VIII. Slow, slow fresh fount]

Slow fresh fount, keepe time with my salt teares,
List to the heauie part the Musicke beares,
Woe weepes out her deuision, when she sings,
Droope hearbs and flowers, Fall griefe in showers,
Our beauties are not ours. O I could still,
Like melting Snow vpon some craggy hill,
Drop, O drop, Since natures pride is now a withered Daffadill.