The sadnesse of things for Sapho's sicknesse.

LIllies will languish; Violets look ill;
Sickly the Prim-rose: Pale the Daffadill:
That gallant Tulip will hang down his head,
Like to a Virgin newly ravished.
Pansies will weep; and Marygolds will wither;
And keep a Fast, and Funerall together,
If Sapho droop; Daisies will open never,
But bid Good-night, and close their lids for ever.