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To my approoued Friend, Master Francis Pilkington, Batchelar of Musicke.
  
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To my approoued Friend, Master Francis Pilkington, Batchelar of Musicke.

A Sonnet.

Those great Atchieuements our Heroicke Spirits
Haue done in Englands old or later Victories,
Shall we attribute wholly to the Merrits,
Of our Braue Leaders? And faire Industries
Which their not-named Followers haue exprest
Lie bid? And must the Matchlesse Excellencies
Of Bird, Bull, Dowland, Morley, and the rest
Of our rare Artists, (who now dim the lights
Of other lands) be onely in Request?
Thy selfe, (and others) loosing your due Rights
To high Desert? nay, make it (yet) more plaine,
That thou canst hit the Ayres of euery vaine.
Their praise was their Reward, and so 'tis thine:
The Pleasure of thy paines all mens: and mine.
William Webbe.