Page:Cherrie and the slae.pdf/79

 POETRY. 67 For why thy grace, In every place, Does me embrace, Thy rod & shepherd's cruik comfort me still. In dispite of my foes, My table grows. Thou balms my head with joy, My cup owreflows. Kindness and grace, mercy and peace, I'll follow me for all my wretched days, And me convoy to endless joy Heaven, whare I sall be with thee always. SONET TO HIS MAJESTIE. bright Apollo staineth every star ith golden rayis when he begins to ryse, hase glorious glance yit stoutly skaillis the skyis, hen with a wink we wonder whare thiey war, fore his face for feir they said so far, hd vanishes away in such a wayis, kat in their spheirs they dar not interpryse r to appeir lyk planeits as they are. as the Phoenix with hir fedrum fair cels all foulis in diverse hevinly heuis, hase nature contrair nature so reneris, only, but companion or compair: quintessenst of Kings! when thou compyle, ou stanis my versis with thy staitly style. CO HIS MAJESTIE. From the same MS. fuir, clenge your cuntrie of thir cruel crymis