[...] one louing howre For many yeares of sorrow can dispence: A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre - Edmund Spenser

They that haue much, feare much to loose thereby,
And store of cares doth follow riches store.

Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square, From the first point of his appointed sourse, And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse.

The waies, through which my weary steps I guyde,
In this delightful land of Faery,
Are so exceeding spacious and wyde,
And sprinckled with such sweet variety,
Of all that pleasant is to eare or eye,
That I nigh rauisht with rare thoughts delight,
My tedious trauell doe forget thereby;
And when I gin to feele decay of might,
It strength to me supplies and chears my dulled spright.