Sonnet, II.

FOrtune, hates not, them that hate her:
Fortune, loues not, them that loue her:
Fortune, would, and cannot rate her:
Fortune, shall, and must remoue her.
And though fickle Fortune smile:
It is but for a little while.


Greene loude Fortune foolish Man,
Foolish man, why loude he so?
And her foolish race he ran,
Foolish race thats run with wee.
Who then (Alas) was lesse misused?
Now (Alas) is more abused?


But let Fowles and foolish fellowes,
Barke and byte their belly fill:
It is not spightfull Enuies bellowes,
That can kindle fire still.
No Booke pleases all that come�
None so bad but pleases some.