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6
SIR MARTYN.
X.
But certes, lever would I ſee and hear,
How, oft, the gentle plant of generous ground
And faireſt bloom no ripend fruit will bear:
Oft have I ſhed, perdie, the better tear
To ſee the ſhoots of Vertue ſhrink and dy,
Untimely blaſted in the ſoft greene eare:
What evil blight thus works ſuch villainy,
To tell, O reverend Seer, thy prompt enchantment try.
XI.
Foreſee the ſorrowes of their elder age!
Full oft, quoth he, my Boſom melts with ruth
To note the follies of their early ſtage,
Where Diſſipations cup full deepe they pledge;
Ne can the Wizards ſaws diſperse to flight
The ills that ſoon will warre against them wage,
Ne may the ſpells that lay the church-yarde Spright,
From Pleaſures ſervile bands releaſe the luckleſs Wight.
