 | The Workes of Benjamin Jonson |  |
165
Song.
[Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt teares]
Slow , slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt teares;Yet slower, yet, O faintly gentle springs:
List to the heavy part the musick beares,
“Woe weeps out her division, when shee sings.
Droup hearbs, and flowres;
Fall griefe in showres;
“Our beauties are not ours:
O, I could still
(Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,)
drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since natures pride is, now, a wither'd daffodill.
| The Workes of Benjamin Jonson | |