1 Could my heart more tongues imploy,
Than it harbors thoughts of griefe ;
It is now so farre from ioy,
That it scarce could aske reliefe.
Truest hearts by deedes vnkinde,
To despayre are most enclin'd.
2 Happy mindes that can redeeme
Their engagements how they please ;
That no ioyes, or hopes esteeme
Halfe so pretious as their ease.
Wisedom should prepare men so
As if they did all foreknow.
3 Yet no Art or Caution can
Growne affections easily change ;
Vse is such a Lord of Man,
That he brookes worst what is strange.
Better neuer to be blest,
Than to loose all at the best.
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