Whil'st charming fancies moue me to reueale
The idle rauings of my brain-sicke youth,
My heart doth pant within, to heare my mouth
Vnfold the follies which it would conceale:
Yet bitter Critickes may mistake my mind;
Not beautie, no, but vertue raisd my fires,
Whose sacred flame did cherish chast desires,
And through my cloudie fortune clearely shin'd
But had not others otherwise aduisd,
My cabinet should yet these scroles containe,
This childish birth of a conceitie braine,
Which I had still as trifling toyes despisd:
Pardon those errours of mine vnripe age;
My tender Muse by time may grow more sage.