When life can speak, it can not well withhold
T’ expresse its own impressions and hid life.
Or joy or grief that smoothered lie untold
Do vex the heart and wring with restlesse strife.
Then are my labours no true pains but ease
My souls unrest they gently do appease.
Besides, that is not fruitlesse that no gains
Brings to my self. I others profit deem
Mine own: and if at these my heavenly flames
Others receiven light, right well I ween