XVIII.

To an unfetterd soules quick nimble hast Are falling stars, and hearts thoughts, but slow pac'd: Thinner then burnt aire flies this soule, and she Whom foure new comming, and foure parting Suns Had found, and left the Mandrakes tenant, runnes 175 Thoughtlesse of change, when her firme destiny Confin'd, and enjayld her, that seem'd so free, Into a small blew shell, the which a poore Warme bird orespread, and sat still evermore, Till her inclos'd child kickt, and pick'd it selfe a dore. 180