TO AMORET.
The Sigh.
Nimble sigh, on thy warm wings, Take this message and depart; Tell Amoret, that smiles and sings, At what thy airy voyage brings, That thou cam'st lately from my heart.
Tell my lovely foe that I Have no more such spies to send, But one or two that I intend, Some few minutes ere I die, To her white bosom to commend.
Then whisper by that holy spring, Where for her sake I would have died, Whilst those water-nymphs did bring Flowers to cure what she had tried; And of my faith and love did sing.
That if my Amoret, if she In after-times would have it read, How her beauty murder'd me, With all my heart I will agree, If she'll but love me, being dead.