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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