A floorish vpon fancie As gallant a glose vpon so triflinge a text, as euer was written. Compiled by N.B. Gent. To which are annexed, manie pretie pamphlets, for pleasant heads to passe away idle time withal. By the same authour.

❧A prety toye written in the prayse of a straunge Spring, in Suffolke.

I Neuer trauayld countreys farre, wherby strange things to sée as woods, and waters, beasts, & byrds, wherin such vertues bee As are not common to be had, but séeldome to be found, And hearbes & stones of nature such, as none are on the ground. But I haue red of many one, and surely in my mind, As well at home as farre abroad, I many straunge things find. but many men whose running heads, delights abroad to range, whose fancies fond are dayly fed, with toyes & choyce of change. what euer their owne soyle doth yéeld, they doe no whit es••eeme But far fet, & dere bought, y^t they most worthy praise doe déeme. But tis no matter, let that passe, ech one where he thinkes best, choose what, & whē, and where he likes, & leue his frends the rest And let me speake in prayse of that, which worthy in my mind, And therewith rare like to be ••éene, in England here I fynde. No beast, nor byrd, no stick no•• stone, no hearb nor flower it is, No foule, nor fish, no metal strange, nought but a Spring ywis. But such a Spring so cleare, so fayre, so swéete and delicate, That happy he may thinke himselfe, that may come sip thereat. To speake in prayse thereof at large, it were to much for mee, As it deserues, but if I were a Poete: as some bée, Sure I would spend a little time, to let the world to know, That out of our small Iland yet, so fyne a Spring doth flow. In Ouids Metamorphosis, I reade there of a Spring, Whereby Narcissus caught his bane, only with looking Long whyle vpon the same: for loe, the water shone so cleare, That thorow the same, the shadow of his face did so appeare. That he forgetting quite himselfe, fell so enamored, Of his owne face, that there he lay, as one amazde, halfe dead. So long till at the last, for want of very ••oode, He fell starke madde, and lost his life in place whereas he stoode And after his ghost yéelded vp, at least as Poets fayne, His Corps was turned to a flower, which there did stil remain:

Which flower if I doe not mistake, is tearmde the Lilly whyte If this be false, blame Ouid then, that such a tale would wryte. But if it had bene true, when he so sore was gréeued, Had he but come vnto this Spring, he had bene soone reléeued. For in this Spring he should haue séene, no shadows of a face, But such a face as should in déede, his owne so much disgrace, That he should haue forgotte his owne, if this he once did see, now he that doth desire to know, wher this same spring shold be In Suffolke soyle, who so best list, let him I say go séeke, And he may hap to sée a Spring, he neuer saw the léeke.