Answer of the Author, The -
The Answer of the Author.
Tis thou, not I, that singst so sweet a Song,
Where MERSIE streames, whose waves are Silver found ,
Whose bankes are Gold, whilst he doth glide along
Into the swelling Trent his utmost Bound .
You that in Loves Quire sing, heare him alone
Not me: my Song's unpleasant, full of mone.
Heare him, who chaunts with such a pleasant Lay,
As he, Seas stormes, can (when he list) asswage;
Make stealing Time against his will to stay ,
And calme the Windes, when most they seeme to rage.
Heare him; to us (to heare him) tis a Grace,
Your Glorie to be husht, and give him place.
Tis thou, not I, that singst so sweet a Song,
Where MERSIE streames, whose waves are Silver found ,
Whose bankes are Gold, whilst he doth glide along
Into the swelling Trent his utmost Bound .
You that in Loves Quire sing, heare him alone
Not me: my Song's unpleasant, full of mone.
Heare him, who chaunts with such a pleasant Lay,
As he, Seas stormes, can (when he list) asswage;
Make stealing Time against his will to stay ,
And calme the Windes, when most they seeme to rage.
Heare him; to us (to heare him) tis a Grace,
Your Glorie to be husht, and give him place.
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