Loving Sister: every line
Of your last letter was so fine
With the best mettle, that the grayne
Of Scrivener's pindust were but vayne:
The touch of Gold did sure instill
Some vertue more than did the Quill.
And since you write noe cleanly hand
Your token bids mee understand
Mine eyes have here a remedy
Wherby to reade more easily.
I doe but jeast: your love alone
Is my interpretation:
My words I will recant, and sweare
I know your hand is wondrous faire.
More verses by William Strode
- A Song On A Sigh
- Anthem For Good Fryday
- A Superscription On Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, Sent For A Token
- A Girdle
- On The Life Of Man