|
| As'twas humility |
| To afford to it all that a Soule can doe, |
| So, 'tis some bravery, |
| That since you would have none of mee, I bury some of you. |
|
| The Blossome. |
|
| Little think'st thou, poore flower, |
| Whom I have watch'd sixe or seaven dayes, |
| And seene thy birth, and seene what every houre |
| Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise, |
| And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough, |
| Little think'st thou |
| That it will freeze anon, and that I shall |
| To morrow finde thee falne, or not at all. |
|
| Little think'st thou poore heart |
| That labours yet to nestle thee, |
| And think'st by hovering here to get a part |
| In a forbidden or forbidding tree, |
| And hop'st her stiffenesse by long siege to bow: |
| Little think'st thou, |
| That thou to morrow, ere that Sunne doth wake, |
| Must with this Sunne, and mee a journey take. |
|
| But thou which lov'st to bee |
| Subtile to plague thy selfe, wilt say,
|
[CW: Alas,] |