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I loued Pyander, so my labour lost.
Faire words I had for store of coyne I gaue,
But not enioyde the fruite I thought to haue.
Oh so I was besotted with her words,
His words that no part of a she affords:
For had he bene a she iniurious boy,
I had not bene so subiect to annoy,
A plague vpon such filthy gullery,
The world was nere so drunke with mockery:
Rash headed Caualeires learne to be wise,
And if you needs will do, do with aduise:
Tye not affection to each wanton smile,
Least doting Fancie truest loue beguile:
Trust not a painted puppet as I haue done,
Who far more doted then Pigmalion.
The streetes are full of ingling parasites,
With the true shape of Virgins counterfets:
But if of force you must a hackney hire,
Be curious in your choise, the best will tire:
The best is bad, therefore hire none at all,
Better to go on foot, then ride and fall.