 | The Furies
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Epig. XXX. To the same right worshipfull Sir Timothie Thornhill.
My Muse cast off, at good hap first did flie,
On wings of Hope, good hap did soare to high;
But when my Muse too feeble was of wing
I thought to whistle her off; but late did spring
A meaner chance, at that I made my game;
But whether at the source she tooke the same,
Or in the ramage no performance made,
I know not well, good hope still giues her aide,
Yet stil I doubt, but, gentle Sir, reade on,
This cannot be discust, while you haue done.
| The Furies
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