In laudem Authoris.

T’ Excuse the Author ere the worke be shewne

Is accusation in it selfe alone;

And to commend him might seeme oversight;

So divers are th’ opinions of this age,

So quick and apt, to taxe the moderne stage,

That hard his taske is that must please in all:

Example have wee from great Cæsars fall.

But is the sonne to be dislik’d and blam’d,

Because the mole is of his face asham’d?

The fault is in the beast, not in the sonne;

Give sicke mouthes sweete meates, fy! they relish none.

But to the sound in censure, he commends

His love unto his Country; his true ends,

To modell out a Land of so much worth

As untill now noe traveller setteth [197] forth;

Faire Canaans second selfe, second to none,

Natures rich Magazine till now unknowne.

Then here survay what nature hath in store,

And graunt him love for this. He craves no more.

R. O. Gen.

This worke a matchles mirror is, that shewes

The Humors of the seperatiste, and those

So truely personated by thy pen.

I was amaz’d to see’t; herein all men

May plainely see, as in an inter-lude,

Each actor figure; and the scæne well view’d

In Comick,[199] Tragick, and in a pastorall strife,[200]

For tyth of mint [201] and Cummin, shewes their life

Nothing but opposition gainst the right

Of sacred Majestie: men full of spight,

Goodnes abuseing, turning vertue out

Of Dores, to whipping, stocking, and full bent

To plotting mischeife gainst the innocent,

Burning their houses, as if ordained by fate,

In spight of Lawe, to be made ruinate.

This taske is well perform’d, and patience be

Thy present comfort, and thy constancy

Thine honor; and this glasse, where it shall come,

Shall sing thy praises till the day of doome.

Sir C. G.