|
| And thus invoke us; You whom reverend love |
| Made one anothers hermitage; |
| You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage, |
| Who did the whole worlds soule contract, & drove |
| Into the glasses of your eyes |
| So made such mirrors, and such spies, |
| That they did all to you epitomize, |
| Countries, Townes, Courts: Beg frow above |
| A patterne of our love. |
|
|
| The triple Foole. |
|
| I am two fooles, I know, |
| For loving, and for saying so |
| In whining Poëtry; |
| But where's that wiseman, that would not be I, |
| If she would not deny? |
| Then as th'earths inward narrow crooked lanes |
| Do purge sea waters fretfull salt away, |
| I thought, if I could draw my paines, |
| Through Rimes vexation, I should them allay, |
| Griefe brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, |
| For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse. |
|
| But when I have done so, |
| Some man, his art and voice to show, |
| Doth Set and sing my paine, |
| And, by delighting many, frees againe
|
[CW: Griefe,] |