T. P. his Farewell vnto his faythfull
and approoued freend. F. S. +
F Arewell my freend, whom fortune forste to fly, I greeue to here, the lucklesse hap thou hast: But what preuayles, if so it helpe might I, I would be prest, therof be bold thou maste.
(5) Yet sith time past, may not be calde agayne, Content thy selfe, let reason thee perswade: And hope for ease, to counteruayle thy payne, Thou art not first, that hath a trespasse made.
Mourne not to much, but rather ioy, because (10) God hath cut of thy will, ere greater crime: Wherby thou might, the more incur the lawes, And beare worse Brutes, seduc’d by wicked prime.
Take heede, my woordes let teach thee to be wise, And learne thee shun, that leades thy minde to ill: (15) Least beeing warnd, when as experience tries, Thou waylst to late, the woes, of wicked will.
FINIS. T. P.