|
To L. of D.| |
See, Sr, how as the suns hott masculine flame [f. 28v] |
Begetts strange creatures on Niles durty slime |
In me your fatherly yet Lusty rime |
(for these Songs are the fruit) haue wrought the same. |
But though th'engendring force frō whence they came |
Be strong inough, and nature do admit |
Seauen to be borne at one, I send as yet |
But six, they say the seventh hath still some maime. |
I chose your iudgment, wch the same degree |
Doth wth her Sister your invention hold |
As fyer these drossy rimes to purifee |
Or as Elixar to change them to gold. |
You are that Alchimist wch allways had |
Witt, whose one sparke could make good things of bad. |
|
To Mr T. W.| |
Pregnant agayne wt th'old twins Hope & Feare |
Ofte haue I askt for thee, both how & where |
Thou wert, and what my hopes of Letters were. |
As in ye Streets sly beggers narrowly |
Marke motions of the giuers hand & ey |
and euer more conceaue some hope therby. |
And now thyne alms is giuen, thy Letters red |
the body risen agayne, the wch was dead |
and thy poore sterveling bountifully fed. |
After this banquet my Soule doth say Grace |
and prayse thee for'it, & zealously embrace |
thy Love, though I thincke thy Love in this case |
To be as gluttons wch say midst ther meate |
They Love yt best of wch they most do eate.| |