Thou knowest the mask of night As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full’. O play me some aqua vitae. These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to him, he is come to your native spring, Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you mistaking offer up to