To Lucasta.

I Laugh and sing, but cannot tell
Whether the folly on't …ounds well;
But then I groan
Methinks in Tune,
Whilst Grief, Despair, and Fear, dance to the Air
Of my despised Prayer.

A pretty Antick Love does this,
Then strikes a Galliard with a Kiss;
As in the end
The Chords they rend…
So you but with a touch from your fair Hand,
Turn all to Saraband.