Ah when will this long weary day have end, And lend me leave to come unto my love? How slowly do the hours their numbers spend! How slowly does sad Time his feathers move!

The noblest mind the best contentment has

The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.

Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.

Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.

He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striveth to supresse.

All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.