Edward Fairfax

Patience, a praise; forbearance is a treasure; Sufferance, an angel is; a monster, rage.

The throne of Cupid had an easy stair; His bark is fit to sail with every wind; The breach he makes no wisdom can repair.

Better sit still, men say, than rise to fall.

The rose within herself her sweetness closed.

Aurora bright her crystal gates unbarred, And bridegroom-like forth stept the glorious sun.

The golden sun rose from the silver wave, And with his beams enamelled every green.