In flying fame’s great booke to be inrol’d,
Yea let your father’s late done deeds inflame
Your sleeping thoughts to gaine a glorious name:
26.
Who thought it not true honor’s glorious prize
By nimblie capring in a daintie dance,
To win th’affects of women’s wanton eies,
Ne yet did seeke their glorie to aduance
By only tilting with a rush-like lance,
But did in dreadfull death themselues oppose,