The doubtfull hope, to reape my due desarte, The pensiue pathe, that guides my restlesse race. (5) Are at such warre, within my wounded brest, As doth bereue my ioy, and eke my rest.
My greedy will, that seekes the golden gayne, My lucklesse lot, doth alway take in worth: My mated minde, that dreades my sutes in vayne, (10) My pitious plaint, doth helpe to set it forth. So that betwene, two waues of raging Seas, I driue my dayes, in troubles and disease.
My wofull eyes do take their chief delight, To feede their fill vpon the pleasaunt maze, (15) My hidden harmes that grow in me by sight: With pinyng paynes do driue me from the gaze, And to my hope, I reape no other hire, But burne my selfe, and I do blow the fire. +
FINIS. I. Haiwood.
Looke or you leape. +
I F thou in suretie safe wilt sit, If thou delight at rest to dwell, Spende no more wordes then shall seeme fit, +Let tongue in silence talke expell, (5) In all thinges that thou seest men bent, See all, say nought, hold thee content.
In worldly workes degrees are three, Makers, doers, and lookers on, The lookers on, haue libertie: (10) Both the others to iudge vpon, Wherfore in all, as men are bent, See all, say nought, hold thee content.
The makers oft, are in fault found, The deers doubt of prayse or shame. (15) The lookers on finde surest ground, +