Sonnet 38

ARION, when, through tempests cruel wracke,

He forth was thrown into the greedy seas:

Through the sweet musick which his harp did make

Allu'rd a dolphin him from death to ease.

But my rude musick, which was wont to please

Some dainty eares, cannot, with any skill,

The dreadfull tempest of her wrath appease,

Nor move the dolphin from her stubborne will,

But in her pride she dooth persever still,

All carelesse how my life for her decayse:

Yet with one word she can it saue or spill.

To spill were pitty, but to save were prayse.

Chose rather to be praysd for doing good,

Then to be blam'd for spilling guiltlesse blood.