Returne my joyes, and hither bring A tongue not made to speake but sing, A jolly spleene, an inward feast, A causelesse laugh without a jest, A face … - William Strode

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Returne my joyes, and hither bring
A tongue not made to speake but sing,
A jolly spleene, an inward feast,
A causelesse laugh without a jest,
A face which gladnesse doth anoynt,
An arm that springs out of his joynt,
A sprightfull gate that leaves no print, And makes a feather of a flint,
A heart that’s lighter than the ayre,
An eye still dancing in his spheare,
Strong mirth which nothing can controule, A body nimbler than the soule,
Free wandring thoughts not tyde to muse Which thinke on all things, nothing choose, Which ere we see them come are gone;
These life itselfe doth feede upon.