Sometime weele angle at the Brooke,
210The freckled Trout to take,
With silken Wormes, and bayte the hooke,
Which him our prey shall make.
Of medling with such subtile tooles,
Such dangers that enclose,
The Morrall is that painted Fooles,
Are caught with silken showes.
And when the Moone doth once appeare,
Weele trace the lower grounds,
When Fayries in their Ringlets there
220Do daunce their nightly rounds.
And haue a Flocke of Turtle Doues,
A guard on vs to keepe,
A witnesse of our honest loues,
To watch vs till we sleepe.
Which spoke I felt such holy fires
To ouerspred my breast,
As lent life to my Chast desires
And gaue me endlesse rest.
By Cynthia thus doe I subsist,
230On earth Heauens onely pride,
Let her be mine, and let who list,
Take all the world beside.
FINIS.
