of Feuershame.
Go get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hyndes.
I am too good to be thy fauorite.
Ales.
I now I see, and too soone find it trew,
Which often hath beene tould me by my freends:
That Mosbie loues me not but for my wealth,
Which too incredulus I nere beleeued.
Nay heare me speake Mosbie a word or two,
Ile byte my tongue, if it speake bitterly:
Looke on me Mosby, or Ile kill my selfe,
Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy looke:
If thou cry warre, there is no peace for me
I will do pennance for offending thee,
And burne this prayer booke, where I here vse,
The holy word that had conuerted me,
See Mosbie I will teare away the leaues.
And al the leaues, and in this golden couer,
Shall thy sweete phrases, and thy letters dwell,
And thereon will I chiefly meditate,
And hould no other sect, but such deuotion,
Wilt thou not looke? is all thy loue ouerwhelmde?
Wilt thou not heare? what malice stopes thine eares?
Why speaks thou not? what silence ties thy tongue?
Thou hast bene sighted, as the eagle is,
And heard as quickly as the fearefull hare:
And spoke as smoothly as an orator.
When I haue bid thee heare, or see, or speak.
And art thou sensible in none of these?
Waigh all thy good turns, with this little fault,
And I deserue not Mosbies muddy lookes.
A fence of trouble is not thickned still,
Be cleare againe, Ile nere more trouble thee,
Mos.
O no, I am a base artificer,
My winges are feathred for a lowly flght,
Mosby fy no, not for a thousand pound,
Make loue to you, why tis vnpardonable,
We beggers must not breath where gentiles are.
