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,

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