Some fitting season plentifully take,
One fruitfull haruest frankly doth restore
What many winters hindred had before.
57.
That to account I strictly call my wit
How it this while had managed my state,
My soule in counsell summoning to sit,
If possible to turne the course of fate,
For waies there be the greatest things to hit,
If men could find the peremptorie gate,