Though Those That Are Betray'd Do Feel

Constant You Are, But Yet A Woman; And For Secrecy, No Lady Closer; For I Well Believe Thou Wilt Not Utter What Thou Dost Not Know.

Thou Hast Nor Youth Nor Age But As It Were An After Dinner Sleep Dreaming Of Both.

In Sweet Music Is Such Art: Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

Yea From The Table Of My Memory I'll Wipe Away All Trivial Fond Records.

Now No Way Can I Stray; Save Back To England, All The World's My Way.