 p.
| |
|
As those Idolatrous flatterers, which still, Their Princes stiles with many liues fulfill, Whence they no tribute haue, and where no swaie Such seruices I offer, as shall paie Them selues: I hate dead names, oh then lett mee Fauorite in ordinarie, or no fauorite bee. When my Soule was in her owne body sheathd, Not yet by oathes betrothd, nor kisses breathd Into my Purgatorie, faithles thee Thy hart seemd waxe, and steele thy constancie. Soe careles flowers strawd in the waters face, The curld whir=pooles, suck, smack, and embrace Yet drowne them: soe the Tapers beamie eye Amarously twinklinge, beckens the giddie flye, Yet burns his wings; and such the Deuill is Scarce visitinge them who are intirely his When I behold a streame which from the springe, Doth with doubtfull Mellodius mvrmuringe, Or in a speechles slumber, calmely ride Her wedded channells bosome, and then chide And bend her browes, and swell, if à Bow Doe but stoope downe to kisse her vpmost brow; Yet if her often gnawinge kisses win The traitrous banke, to gape and let her in Shee rusheth violently, and doth diuorce, Her from her natiue, and her longe kept course And roares, and braues itt, and in gallant scorne, In flatteringe Eddies promising returne, Shee flouts the channell, who thence forth is drie, Then sai I, that is shee, and this am I. Yett let not thy deepe bitternes begett Careless despaire in mee, for that will whett |
|