Thrice having seene under the heavens veale Your toombs devoted compasse over all, Thrice unto you with lowd voyce I appeale, And for your antique furie here doo call, The whiles that I with sacred horror sing Your glorie, fairest of all earthly thing!

Out of thy silver bowres and secret blisse, Where thou dost sit in Venus lap above, Bathing thy wings in her ambrosial kisse, 25 That sweeter farre than any nectar is, Come softly, and my feeble breast inspire With gentle furie, kindled of thy fire.

You be paltrie Jacke knave, by garr: de doctor is nicast, de doctor is rage, de doctor is furie, be gar, the doctor is horrible, terrible furie.