|
Marke, if slight things be'objected, and o'r blowne, |
Marke, if her oathes against him be not still |
Reserv'd, and that shee grieves she's not her owne, |
And chides the doctrine that denies Freewill. |
|
I bid thee not doe this to be my spie; |
Nor to make my selfe her familiar; |
But so much I doe love her choyce, that I |
Would faine love him that shall be lov'd of her. |
|
To the Countesse of Bedford. |
|
Honour is so sublime perfection, |
And so refinde; that when God was alone |
And creaturelesse at first, himselfe had none; |
|
But as of the elements, these which wee tread, |
Produce all things with which wee'are joy'd or fed, |
And, those are barren both above our head: |
|
So from low persons doth all honour flow; |
Kings, whom they would have honoured, to us show, |
And but direct our honour, not bestow. |
|
For when from herbs the pure part must be wonne |
From grosse, by Stilling, this is better done |
By despis'd dung, then by the fire or Sunne.
|
[CW: Care] |