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Sonnet to the Reader.
Thou find'st not heere, neither the furious alarmes,
Of the pride of Spaine, or subtilnes of France:
Nor of the rude English, or mutine Almanes:
Nor neither of Naples, noble men of armes.
No, an Infant, and that yet surmounteth Knights:
Hath both vanquished me, and also my Muse.
And vvere it not: this is a lawfull excuse.
If thou hearst not the report, of their great fights,
Thou shalt see no death of any valliant soldier,
And yet I sing the beauty of a fierce vvarrier.
And amore alone I must strike on my Leer,
And but Eroto I knowe no other Muse.
And harke all you that are lyke vs amourous,
And you that are not, goe read some other where.
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