Ile whisper some soft musique of my wit.
And flatter to my selfe, Ile see
By that, strange motion steale into the tree.
But still my first and chiefest care
Shall be t'appease offended heaven with prayer:
And in such mold my thoughts to cast,
That each day shall be spent as 'twere my last
How ere it's sweete lust to obey,
Vertue though rugged, is the safest way.