A merry Rime sent to the Lady Wroth upon the Birth of my L. of Pembroke’s Child, born in the Spring
Madam, though I am one of those
That every Spring use to compose,
That is, add feet unto round Prose:
Yet you further art disclose,
And can, as every body knows,
Add to those feet fine dainty toes.
Satyrs add nails, but they are shrews,
My Muse therefore no further goes,
But for her feet craves shooes and hose.
Let a fair season add a Rose,
While thus attired wee’l oppose
That tragick buskins of our foes.
And herewith, Madam, I will close,
And ’tis no matter how it shews,
All I care is, if the child grows.
