Ith' silence of a private cell.
Rich discontent's a glorious hell.
Yet Hindlip doth not want extent
Of roome (though not magnificent)
To give free welcome to content.
There shalt thou see the earely Spring,
That wealthy stocke of nature bring,
Of which the Sybils bookes did sing.
From fruitlesse Palmes shall honey flow,
And barren Winter Harvest show,