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167

To the truely Vertuous, and worthy of all Honour, the Right Honourable Edvvard, Lord Zovch, Saint Mavre and Cantelvpe, and one of his Mties. most Honourable Priuy Councell.

Be pleas'd (great Lord) whē vnderneath the shades
Of your delightfull Brams-hill, (where the spring
Her flowers for gentle blasts with Zephire trades)
Once more to heare a silly Shepheard sing.
Yours be the pleasure, mine the Sonneting;
Eu'n that hath his delight; nor shall I need
To seeke applause amongst the common store
It is enough if this mine oaten Reed
Please but the eare it should; I aske no more:
Nor shall those rurall notes which heretofore
Your true attention grac'd and wing'd for fame
Imperfect lye; Obliuion shall not gaine
Ought on your worth, but sung shall be your name
So long as England yeelds or song or Swaine.
Free are my lines, though drest in lowly state,
And scorne to flatter but the men I hate.
Your Honours. W. Brovvne.