Dearest do not now delay me, 
since thou knowst I must begone;
Wind & Tyde 'tis thought doth stay me,
but 'tis wind that must be blown from thy breath,
whose native smell Indian Odours doth excell.

O then speak, my Dearest Fayre,
Kill not him who vowes to serve thee,
But perfume the Neighb'ring Ayre,
For dumb silence else will starve me
'Tis a word is quickly spoken,
Which restrain'd, a heart is broken.