H. His Deuises for his owne exercise, and his Friends pleasure [by Thomas Howell] |
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Enuye euer depraueth deserte.
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 | H. His Deuises |  |
Enuye euer depraueth deserte.
Thou snarling Curre, that crept in Maunger lyes,And lets the Courser there to reache his right:
Thy malice great, and swelling false surmise,
Thou out shouldst barke, before thou secrete bite,
But sythe thy cankcred nature (needes I see,)
Must byte or burst, I open warre denownce,
Against thy kinde, what euer so thou bee,
Which seeks by guile our buyldings downe to bownce.
With Syrens voyce thy tune thou seekst to fayne,
As though in deede our braynes so barren were:
We could not compasse tryflyng toyes most playne.
Unlesse our light we sought some other where.
Thou barkst abrode of Bookes, from whence it came,
But can thy head (in fayth) no better gesse:
Lest more thou spurne, more folly thou expresse.
Well Momus mate, and sonne of Zoylus secte,
That so canst carpe at euery wylling minde:
Raze nothing downe, till something thou erecte,
Spare others spoyle, sythe nought in thee we finde.
Let them enioye the fruites of their desyre,
That seekes good will, and craues no other hyre.
| H. His Deuises | |