Chrestoleros | ||
Epigr. 29. Ad Lectorem.
Reader but halfe my labour is expirde,And Poet, matter, witt and all are tyrde.
Thrise fiftie labours haue worne out my veyne,
An hundred meanings and an halfe remayne,
96
VVere the last at an end, heere would I to.
Chrestoleros | ||