Which, for a poore man, is a princelie dole,
I paie our hostess scott and lott at moste,
And looke as leane and lank as anie ghoste; 308

What can be added more to my renowne?
She lyeth breathlesse; I am taken doune;
The waves doe swell, the tydes climbe or'e the banks;
Judge, gentlemen! if I deserue not thanks? 312

And so, good night! unto you euer'ie one;
For loe, our thread is spunne, our plaie is donne.

_Claudito iam vinos Priapa, sat prata biberunt_ [sic[j]].

Tho. Nash.




[Illustration]

_Thus[k] hath my penne presum'd to please my friend--
Oh mightst thou lykewise please Apollo's eye.
No, Honor brooke's no such impietie,
Yett Ouids wanton Muse did not offend.

He is the fountaine whence my streames doe flowe--
Forgive me if I speake as I was taught,
A lyke to women, utter all I knowe,
As longing to unlade so bad a fraught.