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GReat wrong I
doe, I can it not deny,
to that most sacred Empresse
my dear dred,
not finishing her Queene of faery,
that mote enlarge her liuing prayses dead:
But
lodwick, this of grace to me aread:
doe ye not
thinck th'accomplishment of it,
sufficient worke for
one mans simple head,
all were it as the rest but
rudely writ.
How then should I without another wit:
thinck euer to endure so taedious toyle,
sins
that this one is tost with troublous fit,
of a proud
loue, that doth my spirite spoyle.
Ceasse then, till
she vouchsafe to grawnt me rest,
or lend you me
another liuing brest.
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