Lighten, heauy heart, thy spright,
      The ioyes recall that thence are fled ;
Yeeld thy brest some liuing light ;
      The man that nothing doth is dead.
Tune thy temper to these sounds,
      And quicken so thy ioylesse minde ;
Sloth the worst and best confounds :
      It is the ruine of mankinde.

From her caue rise all distasts,
      Which vnresolu'd Despaire pursues ;
Whom soone after, Violence hasts,
      Her selfe vngratefull to abuse.
Skies are clear'd with stirring windes,
      Th' vnmoued water moorish growes ;
Eu'ry eye much pleasure findes
      To view a streame that brightly flowes.