Sonnet 68. Ladyland to Eyech. Montg Sir Icarus, jour sonet I haiv sene, Nocht ignorant vhose bolt that bag come fro. Je lent jour name to feght against jour frene, Till one durst neuir avou him self my fo. I mak a vou — and I heir ony mo Such campillmuts, je better hold jou still. Je crak so crouse, I ken, becaus je’r tuo ; Bot I am dour, and dou not want my will. Grou I campstarie, it may drau to ill ; Thairfore it's good in tyme that we wer shed. My Bee's aloft, and daggit full of skill : It getts corne drink, sen Grissall toke the bed. Come on, good gossopis ; let vs not discord ; With Johne and George je must convoy my Lord. |
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