You expresse a passion rarely, but pray leave
Your couplets and say something in blanck verse
Before you goe.
_Co_. Before I goe? breath not that killing language:
There is no sunne but in your eyes, and when
I once take leave of those celestiall beames
I meet with darkenes in my habitation;
Where stretch'd on sable ground I downe shall lay
My mournefull body, and with folded Armes
Heare sadder noats uppon the _Irish_ harpe[243]
And drop division with my brinish teares.
[244]
_Sis_. This must be lamentable musick sure!
_Co_. But I have found an art to cure this wound,
For I with fancies pencill will so draw
Your picture in the table of my hart,
Your absence shall but like darke shadowes stand
To sett you of and see you, Lady, better
Then Love will lett me when I looke upon you.
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