Write that I doo write you blessed, (10) will you write, tis but a writing? But if truth and Loue confesse it: will ye doubt the true enditing?
No, I say, and thinke, and write it, write, and thinke, and say your pleasure: (15) Loue, and truth, and I endite it, you are blessed out of measure.
FINIS. N. Breton.
¶ The Sheepheards conceite of Prometheus. +
P Rometheus, when first from heauen hie, He brought downe fire, ere then on earth vnseene: Fond of delight, a Satyre standing by, Gaue it a kisse, as it like sweete had beene.
(5) Feeling forth-with the other burning power, Wood with the smart, with shoutes and shrikings shrill: He sought his ease in Riuer, field, and bower, But for the time his greefe went with him still.
So silly I, with that vnwonted sight, (10) In humane shape, an Angell from aboue: Feeding mine eyes, th’impression there did light, That since I runne, and rest as pleaseth Loue. The difference is, the Satires lips, my hart: He for a while, I euermore haue smart.
FINIS. S. E. D.