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Amour de soy mesme .


Narcis: par trop te plaire en ta beaulté
Mué en fleur, sans sens tu has esté.[1]
Cuyder de soy est, & fut la ruine
De maints savans, Qui laissans la doctrine
Des anciens: aultre voye hont choisie,
Pour n’enseigner rien que leur phantaisie.

Trop cuyder de soy faict laisser le myeulx des
aultres, à la grand perte, & confusion de l’oul-


1.  For the story of Narcissus, see Ovid, Metamorphoses, 3.344ff. On the flower, see Pliny, Natural History, 21.75.128: ‘there are two kinds of narcissus... The leafy one ... makes the head thick and is called narcissus from narce (numbness), not from the boy in the story.’ (cf. narcotic).

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