COLIN, I know that, in thy lofty wit,
Thou wilt but laugh at these my youthful lines;
Content I am, they should in silence sit,
Obscured from light to sing their sad designs.
But that it pleasèd thy grave Shepherdhood,
The Patron of my maiden verse to be;
When I in doubt of raging envy stood:
And now I weigh not who shall _CHLORIS_ see!
For fruit before it comes to full perfection
But blossoms is, as every man doth know:
So these, being blooms, and under thy protection,
In time I hope to ripeness more will grow.
And so I leave thee to thy worthy Muse;
Desiring thee, all faults here to excuse.