 | Sinetes (1597) |  |
In prayse of the Booke.
The rarest giftes neede not a Trumpe to sounde,For fame it selfe will vndertake the prayse,
The sunne needes not a light for to be founde;
But in the height of Sphere giues light alwayes:
Flye then thou worke no soile shall thee disgrace,
And why thy worthie patron is thy fort,
Thou needes not shûnne t'approch into ech place,
Twy flowring bloome of wit shall thee report.
Thy wise and deepe conceytes neede not be grac'd,
For dayntie choise here found ech fancies please,
Thy mindes repose may neuer be defac'd,
Each fancie then thy fancies fame will raise.
O that my tong could duely raise thy fame,
Yet after age at large shall doe the same.
H. P. Gent.
| Sinetes (1597) | |