I.

    t losers prove, May paint my face  seeing me, And e tate ree.

    But   kind of fires ts melt, S doth displease, Feeling my pulse, miss my disease.

    II.

    O no!  O no! trial only ster juice of forsaken ain; Nay, former bliss adds to present pain, ates contain. Come, learners, to me, tunes lap; And, as you like my double lot, tread in my steps, or follo.

    III.

    For me, alas!  I am full resolved t be dissolved; Nor break my e; Nor fail my faite; Nor cate:

    But alruto fly Up to t shall I die in Phoenix fire.