John Heath Poems

It is much question'd in Philosophy.
Whether the sight that's resiant in the eye,
Be first by sending out those radiant streames,
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I waile not those,
Who take their sweete repose;
Within the bowels of our common mother:
Those grieue me most,
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Great King, when of thy death we vnderstood,
Although the newes were bad, the lie was good.
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My friends you see haue thought it not amisse,
To praise my booke, yet you besides all this,
Looke that it should commend it selfe: now fie,
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If that the subiect do the worke commend,
The what more worthy work, then I intend?
For Lords, nay more (let me not be mistook)
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My booke it must please all, or some, or none;
And one of these three must it needs embrace.
It cannot possibly please eueryone,
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Looke how a tree doth spring out of the earth,
So we discend from thence by lineall birth.
Looke how a tree shootes vp, and blossomes faire:
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Oft did I wonder why the setting Sunne
Should looke vpon vs with a blushing face:
Ist not for shame of what he hath seene done,
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