Good brother Philip I have forborne you long,
I was content you should in favour creepe,
While craftely you seemed your Cut to keepe,
As though that faire soft hand did you great wrong:
I beare with envy, yet I heare your song,
When in hir necke you did love ditties peepe,
Nay, (more foole I) oft suffred you to sleepe,
In lillies nest where Loves selfe lies a long,
What? doth high place ambitious thoughts augment?
Is saucines reward of curtesie?
Cannot such grace your silly selfe content,
But you must needes with those lips billing be?
And through those lips drinke Nectar from that tung,
Leave that Syr Phipp lest off your necke be wrung.