Happy to muche the formar Age
With faithful fild content,
Not Lost by sluggy Lust,
that wontz the Long fastz
To Louse by son-got Acorne.
that knew not Baccus giftz
With molten hony mixed
Nor Serike shining flise
With tirius venom die.
Sound slipes Gaue the grasse
ther drink the running streme
Shades gaue the hiest pine.
The depth of sea they fadomd not
Nor wares chosen from fur
Made Stranger find new shores.
Than wer Navies Stil,
Nor bloudshed by Cruel hate
Had fearful weapons staned.
What first fury to foes shuld
any armes rayse,
Whan Cruel woundz he Saw
and no reward for bloude?
Wold God agane Our formar time
to wonted maners fel!
But Gridy getting Loue burnes
Sorar than Etna with her flames.
O who the first man was
of hiden Gold the waight
Or Gemmes that willing lurkt
The deare danger digd?