University of Virginia Library

To Scotland his Soyle

To thee my Soyle (where first
I did receiue my breath)
These Obsequies I sing
Before my Swan-like-death.
My loue by nature bound
which spotlesse loue I spend
From treasure of my hart
to Thee I recommend.
I care not Fortunes frowne,
nor her vnconstant Fate:
Let her dissembling smile
and tryumph in deceate.
Curs'd be that man which hoords
his hopes vp in her lap,
And curs'd be he that builds
vpon her haplesse hap.
I tread on that blinde Bawd
and scorne hir sowre-mixt-sweet,
In spite of all her spite
I spurne her with my feet.
Now let her spet more wrath
(If any more yet bee)
Let horror of her hart
thunder at carelesse-Mee.
Then all the flatt'ring showes
of Fortune I disdaine,
So farewell Soyle and friends,
a Pilgrime once againe.