122
The first Booke of
Cant. IX.
That ydle name of loue, and louers life,As losse of time, and vertues enimyI euer scormd, and ioyd to stirre vp strife,In middest of their mournfull Tragedy,Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry,And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent:Their God himselfe, grieud at my libertie,Shott many a dart at me with fiers intent,But I them warded all with wary gouernment.
But all in vaine: no fort can be so strong,Ne fleshly brest can armed be so sownd,But will at last be wonne with battrie long,Or vnawares at disauantage fownd:Nothing is sure, that growes on earthly grownd:And who most trustes in arme of fleshly might,And boastes, in beauties chaine not to bebownd,Doth soonest fall in disauentrous fight,And yeeldes his caytiue neck to victours most despight.
Ensample make of him your haplesse ioy,And of my selfe now mated, as ye see;Whose prouder vaunt that proud auenging boyDid soone pluck downe, and curbd my libertee.For on a day prickt forth with iolliteeOf looser life, and heat of hardiment,Raunging the forest wide on courser free,The fields, the floods, the heauens with one consentDid seeme to laugh at me, and fauour mine intent.
For wearied with my sportes, I did alightFrom loftie steed, and downe to sleepe me layd;The verdant gras my couch did goodly dight,And pillow was my helmett fayre displayd:
Whiles
