University of Virginia Library

To L. Blundeston of Ingratitude.

The lytell Byrde,
the tender Marlyon,
That vseth ofte
vpon the Larke to praye,
With great reproche,
doth stayne the mynde of man
If all be true,
that Wryter of her saye.
For she a Creature,
maymde of Reasons parte,
And framde to lyue
accordynge to her kynde,
Doth seme to foster
Reason in her Hart
And to aspyre
vnto Deuyner mynde.
When Hungers rage
she hath exyled quyte,
And supped well
as falleth for her state.
The selye Larke,
doth take by force of flyght,
And hyes to tree,
where as she lodged late,
And on the trem-
blyng Byrde all nyght she stondes,
To keepe her feete,
from force of nyppynge colde,
The amazed Wretche,
within her ēnemyes handes,
And closed fast,
within the claspyng holde.
Awayteth Death,
with drowsye drowpyng Hart,
And all the nyght
with feare drawes on her lyfe,
The gentle Byrde,
whan darkenes doth departe
Doth not depryue,
the selye soule of lyfe,
Nor fylles with her
her hungred egre brest
But wayeng well,
the seruyce she hath done.
To spyll the Blud,
her Nature doth detest,
And from so great
a Cryme, her selfe doth shun.
She lets her go
and more with stedfast eyes.
Beholds whiche way
she takes with mazed flyght,
And in those partes
that Daye she neuer flyes
Leaste on that Byrde
agayne she chaunce to lyght.
Loe, Blundston heare
how kyndenes doth habounde,
In selye Soules
where Reason is exylde,
This Byrde alone
suffyseth to confounde,
The Brutysh myndes
of men that are defyled,
With that great Uice,
that vyle and haynous Cryme
Ingratitude
(whiche some vnkyndenes call.)
That Poyson strong
that spryngeth styll with tyme,
Tyll at the length,
it hath infected all.