This page has been validated.
14
SONNETS, &c.
King Pandion, he is dead.
All thy friends are lapt in Lead.
All thy fellow Birds doe sing,
Carelesse of thy sorrowing.
All thy friends are lapt in Lead.
All thy fellow Birds doe sing,
Carelesse of thy sorrowing.
Whilst as fickle fortune smild,
Thou and I, were both beguild.
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easie, like the wind,
Faithful friends are hard to find;
Every Man will be thy friend,
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend:
But if store of Crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
And with such-like flattering,
Pity but he were a King.
Thou and I, were both beguild.
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easie, like the wind,
Faithful friends are hard to find;
Every Man will be thy friend,
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend:
But if store of Crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
And with such-like flattering,
Pity but he were a King.
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will intice.
If to women he be bent,
They have at Commaundement.
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewel his great renowne.
They that fawn'd on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will helpe thee in thy need.
Quickly him they will intice.
If to women he be bent,
They have at Commaundement.
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewel his great renowne.
They that fawn'd on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will helpe thee in thy need.
If
