Iohn Attey

T H E
F I R S T   B O O K E
OF
A Y R E S
OF FOVRE PARTS

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VIII. Thinke not tis I alone that sing her praise.

  Thinke not tis I alone that sing her praise, 
  No, all regard her whom my Muse respects, 
  Each sweetly singing Syten in her layes, 
  Deserued Trophes of her worth erects, 
  And Philomela on her thorny perch, 
  Her nearest notes to note her praise doth search. 
    

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