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[O1v]

Oh Philamela faire, oh take some gladnes, (10) That here is iuster cause of plaintfull sadnes. Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth: Thy thorne without, my thorne my hart inuadeth.
Alas, she hath no other cause of languish But Tereus loue, on her by strong hand wroken: (15) Wherein she suffering all her spirits languish, Full woman-like complaines, her will was broken. But I, who daily crauing, Cannot haue to content me: Haue more cause to lament me, (20) Sith wanting is more woe, then too much ha-|(uing. Oh Philamela faire, oh take some gladnes, That heere is iuster cause of plaintfull sadnes, Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth: Thy thorne without, my thorne my hart inuadeth.

FINIS. S. Phil. Sidney.


An Inuectiue against Loue. +

A ll is not golde that shineth bright in show, +Not euery flowre so good, as faire, to sight, The deepest streames, aboue doe calmest flow, +And strongest poisons oft the taste delight, +(5) The pleasant baite doth hide the harmfull hooke, And false deceit can lend a friendly looke.