Blinde Fortune hath not Fowler nam'd thee then.
For, as he Birds doth take, so thou tak'st men.
Not tir'd with toyl, both spread your Nets, and mend:
Heart-charming Tunes from skilfull Mouthes both send.
The Sun both busie sees, when he begins
His race, and when in Neptune's bowr's he Innes.
Yet this betwixt you both the difference makes:
Thou gently sav'st, He kils those that he takes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem