Lighten, heauy heart, thy spright

Lighten, heauy heart, thy spright,

The ioyes recall that thence are fled;

Yeeld thy brest some liuing light;

The man that nothing doth is dead.

Tune thy temper to these sounds,

And quicken so thy ioylesse minde;

Sloth the worst and best confounds:

It is the ruine of mankinde.

From her caue rise all distasts,

Which vnresolu'd Despaire pursues;

Whom soone after, Violence hasts,

Her selfe vngratefull to abuse.

Skies are clear'd with stirring windes,

Th' vnmoued water moorish growes;

Eu'ry eye much pleasure findes

To view a streame that brightly flowes.