If music and sweet poetry agree. As they must needs (the sister and the brother), Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Because thou lov'st… - Richard Barnfield

Next morning, when the golden sunne was risen,
And new had bid good morrow to the mountaines;
When night her silver light had lockt in prison,
Which gave a glimmering on the christall fountaines:
Then ended sleepe, and then my cares began,
Ev'n with the uprising of the silver swan. Oh, glorious sunne! quoth I, viewing the sunne,
That lightenst everie thing but me alone:
Why is my summer season almost done,
My spring-time past, and ages autumne gone?
My harvest's come, and yet I reapt no corne:
My love is great, and yet I am forlorne.

King Pandion, he is dead,
All thy friends are lapped in lead.

The waters were his winding sheet, the sea was made for his tomb;
Yet for his fame the ocean sea, was not sufficient room.