University of Virginia Library

TO A FLY.

By the Princess Elizabeth, in Prison.
Thou little animal, I wiss,
Thou seemest me a child of bliss,
And runnest, fleest here and there
Withoute a pang, and eke a tear;
While, borne to thinke of sceptres, I
Do envy thee, thou little fly!
Fortune doth make small giftes to me,
But what is mine I give to thee:
The bread, the wine upon my boarde,
I yield to thee with much accorde.
Come when thou list, and to thy mynde
Thou something to thy taste shall fynde.

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Though gladde thou frisketh to and fro,
Thy life, poor worme, is shorte, I know;
A little while thy legs outspread,
I see thee on the table ded;
And, while thou art at peace, I wail,
And think on thy lyfe's little tale.
But while thou canst my crumbs enjoy,
Thou here may hum withoute annoy;
Runne here and there, and spread thy wing,
And with thy own companions sing.
Though man be cruel unto me,
My hand shall give delyte to thee.