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In prayse of the Booke.
CVupid is old, though he a Tirant bee:
What old? nay yong, wee Cupid still behould,
Though young in sight, yet Tirant old is hee.
Old may he be, and Tirants wages haue,
Which thousands haue vntimely sent to gra•…•….
Happie thou art, Sinetes though vnhappies
Vnhappy were the happes, which thee befell,
Happy yet in this, that learned Parrye,
Thy happles happes, in sugred songes doth tell.
Thou shrouded art, vnder the Lions winge,
Whose noble Name, all carping curres will quaile,
Now neyther Zoil▪ priuily back biting,
Not Momus barkes against thee shall preuaile.
Sing boldely then, sing (pleasant Nightingale)
Sweete warbling tunes, and heauenly harmonye:
Feare not filthy byrdes, which would annoy thee,
Ioues Eagle, will thee shend against them all.
Parrye thou pend'st, the Muses did indite,
They sweetely song, their sweet songs thou did'st write.
H. P. gentleman.