Page:Hesperides Vol 1.djvu/253



While Fates permit us let's be merry, Pass all we must the fatal ferry; And this our life too whirls away With the rotation of the day.

Love, I have broke Thy yoke, The neck is free; But when I'm next Love-vexed, Then shackle me.

'Tis better yet To fret The feet or hands, Than to enthral Or gall The neck with bands.

You are a lord, an earl, nay more, a man Who writes sweet numbers well as any can; If so, why then are not these verses hurled, Like Sybil's leaves, throughout the ample world?