To the same Lady, singing the former Song

Chloris your self you so excell,

when you vouchsafe to breath my thought,

that like a spirit with this spell

of mine own teaching I am caught.

That Eagle's Fate and mine is one,

that on the shaft that made him dye,

espy'd a Feather of his own,

wherewith he wont to soare so high.

Had Eccho with so swete a grace,

Narcissus lowd complaints return'd,

not for reflection of his face,

but of his voyce the boy had mourn'd.