 | Poetical works (1908) |  |
17
[Nor can I so much say as much I ought]
Nor can I so much say as much I ought,Nor yet so little can I say as nought,
In praise of this thy worke, so heavenly pend,
That sure the sacred Dove a quill did lend
From her high-soaring wing: certes I know
No other plumes, that makes man seeme so low
In his owne eyes, who to all others sight
Is mounted to the highest pitch of height:
Where if thou seeme to any of small price,
The fault is not in thee, but in his eyes:
But what doe I thy flood of wit restreine
Within the narrow bankes of my poore veyne?
More I could say, and would, but that to praise
Thy verses, is to keepe them from their praise.
For them who reades, and doth them not advance, Of envie doth it, or of ignorance.
F. Nethersole.
| Poetical works (1908) | |