Lvld in an heauenly Charme of pleasing passions, <br />Many their well thewd rimes doe fayre attemper <br />Vnto their amours, while another fashions <br />Loue to his lines, and he on fame doth venter. <br />And some againe in mercinary writ <br />Belch forth desire, making reward their Mistresse: <br />And though it chaunce some Lais Patron it, <br />At least they sell her prayses to the presse. <br />The Muses Nurse I reade is Euphemie, <br />And who but honor makes his lines reward, <br />Comes not by my consent within my petigree, <br />'Mongst true borne sonnes enherit may no bastard. <br />All in the humble accent of my Muse, <br />Whose wing may not aspire the pitch of fame, <br />My grieues I here vnto ombe, sweete them peruse. <br />Though low he flye, yet honor is his game, <br />All while my pen quests on Zepherias name, <br />Whom when it sprung thy wing did thee releeue, <br />Now flowne to marke, thus doth desire thee retreeue.<br /><br />Anonymous Olde English<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/zepheria-canzon-1/
