SONG.

PEace, babling Muse,
I dare not sing what you indite;
Her eyes refuse
To read the passion which they write;
…he strikes my Lute, but if it sound,
Threatens to hurl it on the ground:
And I no less her anger dread,
…han the poor wretch that feigns him dead,
…hile some fierce Lion does embrace
…is breathless corps, and licks his face;
Wrap't up in silent fear he lies,
Torn all in pieces if he cries.