Tell me not of joy: there's none Now my little sparrow's gone; He, just as you, Would toy and woo, He would chirp and flatter me, He would hang the wing awhile, Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be!

Love makes those young whom age doth chill, and whom he finds young keeps young still.

Love makes those young whom age doth chill, and whom he finds young keeps young still.