THE LEGEND OF SIR CALIDORE, OR OF COURTESIE.
1 The waies, through which my weary steps I guyde
In this delightfull land of Faëry,
Are so exceeding spacious and wyde,
And sprinckled with such sweet variety
Of all that pleasant is to eare or eye,
That I, nigh ravisht with rare thoughts delight,
My tedious travell doe forget thereby ;
And, when I gin to feele decay of might,
It strength to me supplies and chears my dulled spright.
2 Such secret comfort and such heavenly pleasures,
Ye, sacred Imps, that on Parnasso dwell,
And there the keeping have of Learnings threasures,
Which doe all worldly riches farre excell,
Into the mindes of mortall men doe well,
And goodly fury? into them infuse.