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POSIE. IX. Fides in Fortunam. (Book 9)
MOst sacred is the sweete where fortune swayes,
Deuine the sound of her enchaunting voice,
Noe hope of rest, wher hope, true hope delayes,
Thongh I dispaire I may not change me choise:
For hue I well, though fortune me dispise,
To honour her, that scornes my enterprise.
To bandie lookes will ease my thrauled heart,
With lookes, my life shalbe at her commanode,
Yf so much grace to faith she will impart:
With lookes againe, to answere my demaunde;
And that I may still loue her to my graue,
With purest faith, is all that I doe craue.
Let Phoebus drawe his shining beam's away,
Let heau•…•…ns forsake to graunt me any light,
Let foode me faile; let hope, my hope delay;
Let eares not heare; let watch-full eies want sight:
Let sense, my sense, with furie fell confound,
Before that faith, to fortune false be found.
Thy eu'r sworne friende, and seruant to thy end.
Hath made a vowe and promise with his soule,
His fortun's •…•…ight wi•…•… cou•…•…age to defend,
Again•…•… proudest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 •…•…his offer dare controle:
My •…•…ch is sure if For•…•…e grace her swayne,
And c•…•…llors giue her quarrell to maintaine.