Her Aunsweare
The proverbe faith, whilst grasse doth growe,
For want of soode the steede doth sterve:
So hope perplext with pining woe,
From reasons lore so oft doth swerve,
That dyre despaire doth winne the forte,
Where hope for succour should resorte.
For want of soode the steede doth sterve:
So hope perplext with pining woe,
From reasons lore so oft doth swerve,
That dyre despaire doth winne the forte,
Where hope for succour should resorte.
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