Fond ladds that spend so fast your poasting time
Fond ladds that spend so fast your poasting time,
(Too poasting time, that spends your time as fast)
To chaunt light toyes, or frame some wanton rime,
Where idle boyes may glut their lustful tast;
Or else with praise to cloath some fleshly slime
With virgins roses and faire lillies chast;
While itching bloods and youthfull cares adore it;
But wiser men, and once yourselues, will most abhorre it.
But thou (most neere, most deare) in this of thine
Ha'st proov'd the Muses not to Venus bound;
Such as thy matter, such thy Muse, divine;
Or thou such grace with Merci's selfe hast found,
That she herself deign's in thy leaues to shine;
Or stol'n from heav'n, thou broughtst this verse to ground,
Which frights the nummed soule with fearefull thunder,
And soone with honied dewes melts it 'twixt ioy and wonder.
Then doe not thou malitious tongues esteeme;
The glasse, through which an envious eye doth gaze,
Can easily make a mole-hill mountaines seeme:
His praise dispraises, his dispraises, praise;
Enough, if best men best thy labours deem,
And to the highest pitch thy merit raise;
While all the Muses to thy song decree
Victorious Triumph, Triumphant Victorie.