Sing small

By all that's good, I muſt myſelf ſing ſmall in her company!—I vvill never meet at hard-edge vvith her— […]

Then shoots through my enjoyment / The one sharp drop of gall: / The host—the cur, the heathen— / On 'Baccy singeth small.

Deutschland sleeps: her star has waned. / France, the Thundress whilome, now / Singeth small, with bated breath.

[A]re not moſt of our kings being vvhen they ſing ſmall and fine, after a puling maner, ſaluted Apolloes for their muſicke: […]

I marvell'd ſhe ſung ſo ſmall indeed, being no Maid.

The Poet culls that dainty flowers; he saileth on the floods; / Leaps with the fountain's ecstacy,^([sic – meaning ecstasy]) and dwelleth in the woods; / Launcheth his barque of hopeful song, nor dreads the roaring fall; / Singing with lark and nightingale, though oft he singeth small.