Great Throughts Treasury

"The wise man's tongue is ever in his heart; the fool's heart's in his tongue."

"Sorrow turns the stars into mourners, and every wind of heaven into a dirge."

"Sweet Philomela's long concealed woe, From darke obliuion now I bring to light; That (though it helpe her not) the world may know, The cause she sobbeth out her notes by night: Which to you (greatest Lady) I present, Fruit of some houres I with the Muses spent. It is well knowne honour hath beene had By Patronizing of a worke of worth, Whilst skilfull Art did cunningly o're-shade The Patrones weaknesse, and his praise point forth: Here it's not so, my work meane, your worth main, Hereby I honour may, you none attaine. For such are you, whom Nature, beautie, grace, So faire hath fram'd, adorn'd, so well indu'd: As if those three contended had to place In you perfection, which their store hath shew'd: With whom vertue hath ioyn'd & mak'st appeare, Deseruedly you moue first in this sphere. So as thou canst not by a learn'der quill Be honour'd, or receiue an equall praise Vnto thy merits, they each presse should fill, Should goe about with words thy worth to raise: In it I'le rest: thy name which doth adorne This frontispice, is my birds Aprill morne. If that your Grace doe but my labours grace, Each Lady's lodging shall a groue be thought: The Nightingale shall sing in euery place; Nay, thereby shall a miracle be wrought: For if you but my Philomela cheare, Her singing-spring-tide shall last all the yeare. Euer most humbly deuoted to your Graces seruice, Patrick Hannay. "