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HEERE Melancholly musing in his fits
Pale visag'd, of complexion cold and drie
All solitarie, at his studie sits
Within a wood, devoid of companie
Saue Madge the Owle, and melancholly Pusse
Light-loathing Creatures, hatefull, ominous
His mouth, in signe of silence, vp is bound
For Melancholly loues not many wordes
One foote on Cube is fixt vpon the ground
The which him plodding Constancie affordes
A sealed Purse he beares, to shew no vice
So proper is to him, as Avarice.