Bid now my Muse, thy lighter taske adieu

BID now my Muse, thy lighter taske adieu,
As shaken blossome of a better fruite,
And with VRANIA thy Creator view,
To sing of him, or evermore be mute:
Let muddy Lake, delight the sensuall thought,
Loath thou the earth, and lift thy selfe aloft.

Repent not (though) thy time so idlely spent,
The cunning'st Artist ere he can, (we see)
Some rarest Modell bring to his Intent,
Much heweth off in Superfluitie:
Ad many a pretious hower, I know is lost,
Ere ought is wrought to countervaile the cost.