Such beasts are those about thee; take then courage; If ever in thy youth thy soule hath set By the Worlds tempting fires, as these men doe, Recant that errour.

But I, poore wretch, am forced to retourne To the sad lakes that Phoebus sunnie rayes Doo never see, where soules doo alwaies mourne; 620 And by the wayling shores to waste my dayes, Where Phlegeton with quenchles flames doth burne; By which iust Minos righteous soules doth sever From wicked ones, to live in blisse for ever.

no mortall wound so muche As to be recond fearfull; but the cause, The cause of my dull ruyne must affryghte you You have not flynte enoughe to arme your soule Agaynst compassyon; & that kylls a souldior. Let me have roame to breathe at lardge my woes

Thou wel of mercy, sinful soules cure!"

His worthie praise, and vertues dying never, Though death his soule doo from his bodie sever: And thou thy selfe herein shalt also live; Such grace the heavens doo to my verses give.

Can they so farre a knowing soule exyle That her owne roofe

When man is at sixty-six yere olde Which lykened is to bareyne Novembre He waxeth unweldy, (8) sekely (9) and cold Than (7) his soule helth is time to remember.

A sweete soule indeede.

Millions of thoughts were crowded in her braines: Her troubled minde her abrupt words describ'd; She did accuse her selfe without accusers, And in the terrour of a soule perplext Cry'd out, 'the Duke intends to cease my goods Cause I am noted for a Concubine.' I did replie such comfort as beseemes, But comfortlesse I brought her to the Court.

But language is to narrow to expresse What I expect, tis fitt my soule retire Till she present her selfe; and, if it can Measure my hop'd for ioyes with thought, prepare To entertaine the happines.

For ever rest, sweet Ferdinand, in peace Untill thy body glorified from heaven Become immortal by thy soules returne.

Here me, thou ignorant King, you dull-brain'd Lords, Oh heare me for your owne sakes, for your soules sake: Had you as many gods as you have dayes, As once the Assyrians had, yet have yee nothing.

Barke out no more, thou Mastiffe; get you all gone, And let my soule sleepe.

I can't but wonder at this Reformation, My skipping soule surfets with so much good, To see my hopes into fruition budd.

And if there be a soule tis in mine ey; For, of the harmony these bright starres make, I comprehend the formes of all the world; The story of the Syrens in my voyce I onely verified, for Millions stand Inchanted when I speake, and catch my words As they were orient pearle to adorn their eares; Circe is but a fable, I transforme The vertuous, valiant, and the most precise, Into what forme of minde my fancie please.

'Tis my soules ayme to tye it Vpon a faster knot.

And I beseech you, Sir, if there but dwell So much of Vertue in you as your lookes Seeme to expresse possesse your honour'd thoughts, Bestow your pitty on us, not your scorne; And wish, for goodnesse sake and your soules weale, You were a sharer in these sufferings, So the same cause expos'd your fortunes too't.

Nay, my maister is damn'd, I'll be sworne, for his verie soule burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse.