 | The Whole Works of William Browne
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12.
[Had not the soyle, that bred me, further donne]
Had not the soyle, that bred me, further donne,
And fill'd part of those veynes which sweetlye doe,
Much like the living streames of Eden, run,
Embracing such a Paradise as you;
My Muse had fail'd me in the course I ran,
But that she from your vertues tooke new breath,
And from your Eyes such fire that, like a Swan,
She in your praise can sing her selfe to death.
Now could I wish those golden howres vnspent,
Wherein my Fancy led me to the woods,
And tun'd soft layes of rurall merriment,
Of shepherds Loues & neuer resting Floods:
For had I seen you then, though in a dreame,
Those songs had slept, and you had bin my Theame.
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