If music and sweet poetry agree

King Pandion, he is dead, All thy friends are lapped in lead.

The waters were his winding sheet, the sea was made for his tomb; Yet for his fame the ocean sea, was not sufficient room.

Every one that flatters thee Is no friends in misery. Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. Every man will be thy friend Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;

Song like a rose should be; Each rhyme a petal sweet; For fragrance, melody, That when her lips repeat The words, her heart may know What secret makes them so:—

And also there’s a little star So white a virgin’s it must be:— Perhaps the lamp my love in heaven Hangs out to light the way for me.

O fairest of the feather’d train! For whom I sing, for whom I burn, Attend with pity to my strain, And grant my love a kind return.