Sonnet 82

GOod brother Phillip I haue for borne you long,
I was content you should in fauour creepe,
While craftely you seemed your Cut to keepe,
As though that faire soft hand did you great wrong,
I beare with enuy, yet I heare your song,
When in hir necke you did loue ditties peepe,
Nay, (more foole I) oft suffred you to sleepe,
In lillies nest where Loues selfe lies along,
What? doth high place ambitious thoughts augment?
Is saucines reward of curtesie?
Cannot such grace your silly selfe content,
But you must needes with those lips billing be?
And through those lips drinke Nectar from that tung,
Leaue that Syr Phillip lest your necke be wrung.