to be shown, But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the County’s Page that rais’d the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this marriage he should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams, Driving back shadows over lowering hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love, And bid him come to him, To wreak the love I might,