Great things to compare with Small

Sweet Youth, in Colour no such trust repose.

Now fields are green, and trees bear silver buds.

The hope of my poor Flock.

Britany, from all the World disjoyn'd.

Fliest thou me? Now by these Tears, by this Right hand I thee (Who now unfortunate can boast no more) By our late Vows, our Nuptial Rites implore; If e're I did oblige, if ever please, Take pitie on a falling House; And these

Ambush'd in grass, a deadly Serpent lyes.