And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast.
 And as the dews rerive the drooping flow'rs,
 So let your drops of pity be address'd,
 To quicken up the thoughts of my desert,
 Which sleeps too sound whilst I from her depart.

 Haste restless sighs, and let your burning breath
 Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart,
 Whose frozen rigour like forgetful Death,
 Feels never any touch of my desert:
 Yet sighs and tears to her I sacrifice,
 B oth from a spotless heart and patient eyes