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Sonnet. 11.
[He that was the first, that put these lyttle winges]
He
that was the first, that put these lyttle winges,
On the backe of amore, that high God immortell:
He might better haue had employed his pensell,
To paint hopping butter-flyes, or Genny wrens.
But if in place of them, the doting foole had
Painted his fierce bowe, and his rigorous draftes,
And shewde what kinde of thinges, are his golden shaftes:
Then had he beene apt to haue painted a God.
And you that paint next, you must vse other colore:
wherewith you may better shew his diuine rigore:
And for his bowe, giue him a great harquebous.
Or beleeue you not, goe and looke on Diân,
And hauing seene her fayre eyes, I esteeme than,
you'll giue him some thing more then it rigorous.
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