194Lord how mine eies throw gazes to the East,

195My hart doth charge the watch, the morning rise

196Doth scite each mouing scence from idle rest,

197Not daring trust the office of mine eies.

198 While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,

199 And with her layes were tuned like the larke.

200For she doth welcome daylight with her dittie,

201And driues away darke dreaming night:

202The night so packt, I post vnto my pretty,

203Hart hath his hope, and eies their wished sight,

204 Sorrow changd to solace, and solace mixt with sorrow,

205 For why, she sight, and bad me come to morrow.