Come away, come away death,
And in sad cypresse let me be laide.
Fye away, fie away breath,
I am slaine by a faire cruell maide:
My shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it.
My part of death no one so true did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweete
On my blacke coffin, let there be strewne:
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne:
A thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where
Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there

Du. There's for thy paines

Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir

Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then

Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, or
another

Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee

Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and the
Tailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thy
minde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constancie
put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing,
and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayes
makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.