The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton For the First Time Collected and Edited: With Memorial-Introduction, Notes and Illustrations, Glossarial Index, Facsimilies, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart. In Two Volumes |
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 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton |  |
6
See and Say Nothing.
Oh my thoughts, keepe in your words,
Least their passage do repent yee;
Knowing, Fortune still affordes
Nothing, but may discontent yee.
Least their passage do repent yee;
Knowing, Fortune still affordes
Nothing, but may discontent yee.
If your saint be like the sunne,
Sit not yee in Phœbus chaire,
Least, when once the horses runne,
Yee be Dedalus his heire.
Sit not yee in Phœbus chaire,
Least, when once the horses runne,
Yee be Dedalus his heire.
If your labours well deserue,
Let your silence onely grace them;
And in patience hope preserue,
That no fortune can deface them.
Let your silence onely grace them;
And in patience hope preserue,
That no fortune can deface them.
If your friend doe growe vnkinde,
Grieue, but doe not seeme to showe it:
For a patient heart shall finde
Comfort, when the soule shall know it.
Grieue, but doe not seeme to showe it:
For a patient heart shall finde
Comfort, when the soule shall know it.
If your trust be all betrai'd,
Trie, but trust no more at all:
But in soule be not dismai'd;
Whatsoeuer doe befall.
Trie, but trust no more at all:
But in soule be not dismai'd;
Whatsoeuer doe befall.
In your selues your selues enclose,
Keepe your secrecies vnseene;
Least when ye your selues disclose,
Yee had better neuer beene.
Keepe your secrecies vnseene;
Least when ye your selues disclose,
Yee had better neuer beene.
And what euer be your state,
Doe not languish ouerlong;
Least you finde it, all too late,
Sorrow be a deadly song.
Doe not languish ouerlong;
Least you finde it, all too late,
Sorrow be a deadly song.
And be comforted in this,
If your passions be concealed,
Crosse or comfort, bale or blisse,
'Tis the best, is not reuealed.
If your passions be concealed,
Crosse or comfort, bale or blisse,
'Tis the best, is not reuealed.
So, my deerest thoughts, adieu,
Hark whereto my soule doth call yee:
Be but secret, wise, and true,
Feare no euill can befall yee.
Hark whereto my soule doth call yee:
Be but secret, wise, and true,
Feare no euill can befall yee.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton | |