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Borrill.
Batte, my coate from tempest standeth free,
when stately towers been often shakt with wind,
And wilt thou Batte, come and sit with me?
contented life here shalt thou onely finde,
Here mai'st thou caroll Hymnes, and sacred Psalmes,
And hery Pan, with orizons and almes.
And scorne the crowde of such as cogge for pence,
and waste their wealth in sinfull brauerie,
Whose gaine is losse, whose thrift is levvd expence,
and liuen still in golden slauery:
Wondring at toyes, as foolish worldlings doone,
Like to the dogge which barked at the moone.
Here maist thou range the goodly pleasant field,
and search out simples to procure thy heale,
What sundry vertues hearbs and flovvres doe yeeld,
gainst griefe vvhich may thy sheepe or thee assaile:
Here mayst thou hunt the little harmeles Hare,
Or else entrap false Raynard in a snare.
Or if thou vvilt in antique Romants reede,
of gentle Lords and ladies that of yore,
In forraine lands atchieu'd their noble deede,
and been renovvnd from East to Westerne shore:
Or learne the shepheards nice astrolobie,
To knovv the Planets moouing in the skie.