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Poem	Penelope for her Vlisses sake, Deuiz'd a Web her wooers to deceaue: in which the worke that she all day did make the same at night she did againe vnreaue, Such subtile craft my Damzell doth conceaue, th'importune suit of my desire to shonne: for all that I in many dayes doo weaue, in one short houre I find by her vndonne. So when I thinke to end that I begonne, I must begin and neuer bring to end: for with one looke she spils that long I sponne, & with one word my whole years work doth rend. Such labour like the Spyders web I fynd, whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least wynd.
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