The waters were his winding sheet, the sea was made for his tomb

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;

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

If music and sweet poetry agree. As they must needs (the sister and the brother), Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.

The sunn must lend his goulden beames, Soft windes their breath, green trees their shade, Sweete fields their flowers, cleare springs their streams, Ere such another smyle bee made.

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry Why o'er the waves dost fly? O, rather, bird, with me Through the fair land rejoice!

We'll sport and be free with Moll, Betty, and Dolly, Have oysters and lobsters to cure melancholy: Fish-dinners will make a lass spring like a flea, Dame Venus, love's lady, Was born of the sea.