The Arbor of Amitie wherin is comprised pleasant Pohems and pretie Poesies, set foorth by Thomas Howell |
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![]() | The Arbor of Amitie | ![]() |
H. to K. his Friend.
O Friend in truth to trie,thy cunning skill I craue:
To helpe and cure my carefull case,
that brings my corps to graue.
To thee I doe confesse,
the griefe that gripes my hart:
For lacke of that which some possesse,
my countnance may me smart.
Though nought I feare dispaire,
yet giue me salue for sore:
My handes, my hart, my might my minde,
are fixt for euermore.
![]() | The Arbor of Amitie | ![]() |