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Section 149
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Fer.
Where shold this Musick be? I'th aire, or th'earth?
It sounds no more: and sure it waytes vpon
Some God o'th' Iland, sitting on a banke,
Weeping againe the King my Fathers wracke.
This Musicke crept by me vpon the waters,
Allaying both their fury, and my passion
With it's sweet ayre: thence I haue follow'd it
(Or it hath drawne me rather) but 'tis gone.
No, it begins againe.