Classic Poem

Whylste slye deceyte, by sleight of smyling cheare,
Yeeldes tickling hope, to dandle on our dayes:
We dread no guyle, no doubling drift we feare,
Our sounde beliefe such setled trust doth rayse.
But when in syne, we finde our selues misled,
We blame the frawde that so our fancies fed.

And gripte with griefe, our former trust we wayle,
Exclayming lowde that falshood so can fayne,
When glosing shewes clokt vnder friendships vayle,
Fals out but sleyght, to foster hope in vayne.
Loe thus full oft, what deemde hath bene the sunne.
Proofe C YNTHEA findes, whose course more lowe doth runne.

As some haue tryde through time and trauell spente,
Who traynde by trust, haue deemde good hap there plast,
Had swayed the soyle, where ruine all to rente,
Hath due desart, with rigour downe defast.
Whose shorte regarde, for long imployed toyle,
May warne the wise of frawde to feare the foyle.