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H. His Deuises

for his owne exercise, and his Friends pleasure [by Thomas Howell]
 
 

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Discorde makes weake, what concorde left strong.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Discorde makes weake, what concorde left strong.

The quyet pawse that silente night,
Doth bring from trauayles past:
Of daye no sooner had by sleight,
A slumber on me cast.
But in my sleepe there did appeare,
Sixe sauadge men in mosse and haire.
A Fagot bounde the foremost wight,
Me thought in hande did beare:
Which ioyntly and alone through might,
All sought to breake and teare,
Yet still in vaine their strength they tryde,
Eche parte to other was so tyde.
Till wresting long, a stick at last,
One forth by sleight doth wring,
Whereby the Bundell knitte so fast,
A sunder soone they fling.
Then eche a seuerde peece doth spoyle,
Which late conioynde, no force could foyle.


This done me seemde they vanishte quite,
And there my Dreame did ende:
Yet so amazed with the sight,
That out a sighe I sende.
I curst the frawde that friends defast,
Whose broken bande eche harme doth hast.
The wrack of Realmes hereby is wrought,
The force of Foes increast:
The spoyle of famous Princes sought,
And right by wrong supprest.
Foule fall therefore the guyle of those,
That friendships bande doe seeke to lose.
And happy they that doe restraine,
Their eares to heare when Syrens faine.