| |
|
I.
Here,
here, oh here! EURIDICE,
Here was she slaine;
Her
soule 'still'd through a veine:
The gods knew lesse
That time divinitie,
Then ev'n, ev'n these
Of
brutishnesse.
II.
Oh! could you view the
melodie
Of ev'ry grace,
And musick of her face,
You'd drop a teare,
Seeing more harmonie
In her
bright eye,
Then now you heare.
|
|
|
