Of Pindar, that great Greek,
nor altogether of Anacreon; the Arguments being amorous, moral, or what else the Muse pleaseth.
To write much in this kind neither know I how it will relish: nor, in so doing, can I but injuriously presuppose ignorance or sloth in thee; or draw censure upon myself for sinning against the decorum of a Preface, by reading a Lecture, where it is enough to sum the points. New they are, and the work of Playing Hours: but what other commendation is theirs, and whether inherent in the subject, must be thine to judge.
But to act the Go-Between of my Poems and thy applause, is neither my modesty nor confidence: that, oftener than once, have acknowledged thee, kind; and do not doubt hereafter to do somewhat in which I shall not fear thee, just. And would, at this time, also gladly let thee understand what I think, above the rest, of the last Ode of the number; or, if thou wilt, Ballad in my book. For both the great Master of Italian rymes Petrarch, and our Chaucer, and others of the Upper House of the Muses, have thought their Canzons honoured in the title of a Ballad: which for that I labour to meet truly therein with the old English garb, I hope as ably to justify as the learned Colin Clout his Roundelay.
Thus requesting thee, in thy better judgment, to correct such faults as have escaped in the printing; I bid thee farewell.
[M. Drayton.]