Chloris your self you so excell,
when you vouchsafe to breath my thought,
that like a spirit with this spell 
of mine own teaching I am caught.

That Eagle's Fate and mine is one,
that on the shaft that made him dye,
espy'd a Feather of his own,
wherewith he wont to soare so high.

Had Eccho with so swete a grace,
Narcissus lowd complaints return'd,
not for reflection of his face,
but of his voyce the boy had mourn'd.