University of Virginia Library

AN AMOURET ANACREONTICK.

Most good, most faire.
Or Thing as rare,
To call you's lost;
For all the cost
Words can bestow,
So poorely show
Upon your prayse,
That all the wayes
Sense hath, come short:
Whereby Report
Falls them under;
That when Wonder
More hath seyzed,
Yet not pleased,
That it in kinde
Nothing can finde,
You to expresse:
Neverthelesse,
As by Globes small,
This Mightie All
Is shew'd, though farre
From Life, each Starre
A World being:
So wee seeing
You, like as that,
Onely trust what
Art doth us teach;
And when I reach
At Morall Things,
And that my Strings
Gravely should strike,
Straight some mislike
Blotteth mine Ode.
As with the Loade,
The Steele we touch,
Forc'd ne'r so much,
Yet still removes
To that it loves,
Till there it stayes;
So to your prayse
I turne ever,
And though never
From you moving,
Happie so loving.