Foul Whisp'rings Are Abroad.

But Miserable Most, To Love Unloved? This You Should Pity Rather Than Despise

Look, The World's Comforter, With Weary Gait, His Day's Hot Task Hath Ended In The West: The Owl, Night's Herald, Shrieks-'tis Very Late; The Sheep Are Gone To Fold, Birds To Their Nest; And Coal-black Clouds, That Shadow Heaven's Light, Do Summon Us To Part, And Bid Good Night.

And Thence From Athens Turn Away Our Eyes To Seek New Friends And Stranger Companies.

Preposterous Ass, That Never Read So Far To Know The Cause Why Music Was Ordain'd! Was It Not To Refresh The Mind Of Man, After His Studies Or His Usual Pain?

For Where Thou Art, There Is The World Itself, With Every Several Pleasure In The World, And Where Thou Art Not, Desolation.