My safetie small: great wracks I bide by wrong, Whose time is swift, and yet my hap but sloe, (5) Each griefe and wound, in my poore hart appeeres, That laugheth howres, and weepeth many yeeres.
Deedes of the day, are fables for the night, Sighes of desire, are smoakes of thoughtfull teares, My steps are false, although my paths be right, (10) Disgrace is bolde, and fauor full of feares, Disquiet sleepe, keepes audit of my life, Where rare content, doth make displeasure rife.
The dolefull bell, that is the voice of time, Cals on my end, before my haps be seene, (15) Thus fals my hopes, whose harmes haue power to clime, Not come to haue that long in wish hath beene, I seeke your loue, and feare not others hate, Be you with me, and I haue Cæsars state.
The praise of Virginitie. +
V Irginitie resembleth right the Rose, +That gallantly within the garden growes, Whilst in the mothers bodie it doth stand, Of nibling sheep vntoucht, or shepherds hand. (5) The aire thereon, and ruddie morne doth smile, The earth and waters, fauours it that while, Braue lustie youth, and the inamord Dame, Euen so doth age, and temples craue the same.
But when from naturall stalke, it is remou’d, (10) And place where it, so highly was belou’d, The grace that earth, and heauen thereon did cast, With beautie, fauor, loue, and all, is past.