O, how the wreath of Phœbus flowring bay,
The victor’s due desert, and learning’s meed,
Did flourish in her time without decay!
Which to obtaine, each one did striue t’exceed
In high atchieuement of some glorious deed:
Though now, alas, such custome is forgot,
And loue of ease great Albion’s sonnes doth blot.
24.
Lull’d in the bosome of securitie,
Vpon th’ignoble bed of idle ease,