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SONNET. XXXX.

[Some bewties make a god of flatterie]

Some bewties make a god of flatterie,
And scorne Eliziums eternall types,
Nathes, I abhorre such faithles prophesie,
Least I be beaten with thy vertues stripes,
Wilt thou suruie another world to see?
Delias sweete Prophet shall the praises singe
Of bewties worth exemplified in thee,
And thy names honour in his sweete tunes ring:
Thy vertues Collin shall immortalize,
Collin chast vertues organ sweetst esteem'd,
When for Elizas name he did comprise
Such matter as inuentions wonder seem'd.
Thy vertues hee, thy bewties shall the other.
Christen a new, whiles I sit by and wonder.