The Sigh.
Nimble sigh, on thy warm wings,
Take this message and depart;
Tell Amoret, that smiles and sings,
At what thy airy voyage brings,
That thou cam'st lately from my heart.
Tell my lovely foe that I
Have no more such spies to send,
But one or two that I intend,
Some few minutes ere I die,
To her white bosom to commend.
Then whisper by that holy spring,
Where for her sake I would have died,
Whilst those water-nymphs did bring
Flowers to cure what she had tried;
And of my faith and love did sing.
That if my Amoret, if she
In after-times would have it read,
How her beauty murder'd me,
With all my heart I will agree,
If she'll but love me, being dead.