194Lord how mine eies throw gazes to the Ea
st,
195My hart doth charge the watch, the morning ri
se
196Doth
scite each mouing
scence from idle re
st,
197Not daring tru
st the o
ffice 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 po
st vnto my pretty,
203Hart hath his hope, and eies their wi
shed
sight,
204 Sorrow changd to
solace, and
solace mixt with
sorrow,
205 For why,
she
sight, and bad me come to morrow.
C