The Silk-Worme of Love

A Daedale of my Death
Now I resemble that slie worme on Earth▪
Which prone to its own harme doth take no rest:
For Day and Night opprest,
I feed on fading Leaves
Of Hope which me deceives,
And thousand Webs do warpe within my Brest,
And thus in end unto my selfe I weave
A fast-shut Prison, or a closer Grave.