Tottel sig. Yir

[sig. Yir]

(45) No lenger fame could hold her peace, but blew a blast so hye, That made an eckow in the aier and sowning through the skye. The voice was loude & thus it said come. R. with happy daies, Thy honest life hath wonne the fame & crowned thee with praies. And when I heard my maistres name I thrust amids the throng, (50) And clapt my handes and wisht of god that she might prosper long.

Of one vniustly
defamed. +

I Ne can close in short and cunning verse, Thy worthy praise of bountie by desart: The hatefull spite and slaunder to reherse. Of them that see but know not what thou art, (5) For kind by craft hath wrought thee so to eye, That no wight may thy wit and vertue spye. But he haue other fele then outward sight, The lacke wherof doth hate and spite to trie +Thus kind thy + craft is let of vertues light: (10) See how the outward shew the wittes may dull: Not of the wise but as the most entend, +Minerua yet might neuer perce their scull, That Circes cup and Cupides brand hath blend. Whose fonde affects now sturred haue their braine, (15) So doth thy hap thy hue with colour staine. Beauty thy soe thy shape doubleth thy sore, To hide thy wit and shew thy vertue vaine, +Fell were thy fate, if wisdome were not more. I meane by thee euen G. by name, +(20) Whom stormy windes of enuy and disdaine, Do tosse with boisteous blastes of wicked fame. Where stedfastnesse as chiefe in thee doth raigne. Pacience thy setled minde dothe guide and stere, Silence and shame with many resteth there. (25) Till time thy mother list them forth to call, Happy is he + that may enioye them all.

Of the death of the late countisse
of Penbroke. +