The poets' scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death. |
True loves are often sown, but seldom grow on ground. |
What more felicity can fall to creature, than to enjoy delight with liberty? |
Whiles every sence teh humour sweet embayd, / And slombring soft my hart did steale away, / Me seemed, by my side a royall Mayd / Her daintie limbs full softly down did lay: / So faire a creature yet saw never sunny day. |