A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures Gallantly garnished, with goodly Galleries of strang inuentio[n]s and prudently polished, with sundry pleasant Posies, & other fine fancies of dainty deuices, and rare delightes. Written by a student in Ca[m]bridge. And published by I. C. Gent |
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To his freend Bartholmew Ien.
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A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures | ||
To his freend Bartholmew Ien.
Esquilla non nascitur Rosa.
If Roses spronge of white thorne bowes, & grapes on thistles grew
Or if from Okes, wher Acorns bee, good Apples did insew.
And euery shade and pleasant groue, should yeeld a fragrant smell.
But these bee woonders for to see, wee haue not heard of such,
And Nature in this sodaine chance, should change her selfe too much.
But yet more strang, mee thinke it is, both to my minde and eyes,
That from the wet and watry seas, great flames of fire should rise.
Then way my freend, not what I speke, but what I meane hereby,
What doost thou meane to heate thy selfe, in freesing frost to ly.
Can fire giue forth an ysse colde, which doth pertaine to frost,
Or els to yeelde a burning flame, haue Ice their nature lost?
No, no, my freend, infected salues, can not make whole thy wound,
Then walke out on the fickle floods, in steede of surest ground.
For why with thē which bee not sound, thou shalt corrupt thy minde,
And in the dry, vnsauory chip, no sauor thou canst finde.
Then way my wordes with reasons rule, and prooue my saying true
The Thistle can not beare a Grape, and thus my freend adew.
A poore Knight his Pallace of priuate pleasures | ||