 | The Discription of A Maske |  |
To the Reader.
Neither buskin now, nor bayesChallenge I, a Ladies prayse
Shall content my proudest hope,
Their applause was all my scope
And to their shrines properly
Reuels dedicated be:
Whose soft eares mene ought to pierce
But with smooth and gentle verse,
Let the tragicke Poeme swell,
Raysing raging seendes from hell,
And let Epicke Dactils range
Swelling seas and Countries strange.
Little roome small things containes
Easy praise quites easy paines.
Suffer them whose browes do sweat
To gaine honour by the great.
It s enough if men me name
A Retailer of such fame.
| The Discription of A Maske | |