H. His Deuises for his owne exercise, and his Friends pleasure [by Thomas Howell] |
No newe fancies, shall alter olde lyking.
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H. His Deuises | ||
No newe fancies, shall alter olde lyking.
Though Paris prayse, Apollos Impe gan stayne,When change of choyce his fickle humor fedde,
And Carthage cryes, with strayned voyce complayne,
On periurde Prince, by night that faithlesse fledde.
Though Iasons heste Medea founde vntrue,
And others mo there be whose fancye past:
That skorne the olde still haunting after newe,
Wythin whose hartes no leeking long may last,
Yet tyll syr Phebus beames shall lose their light,
And Ocean Seas doe cease to ebbe and flowe:
Untill the day shall turne to perfite night,
And Natures course against her kinde shall goe.
My fixed fayth vnspotted shall remayne,
What would you more, I vowe I doe not fayne.
H. His Deuises | ||