I see the work of others, and my heart
Sinks as my own achievement I compare.
I will not be irresolute, nor despair,
But battle strongly for my struggling art
...
Hence vain deluding joyes,
The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toyes;
Dwell in som idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,
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