A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight Originally written in the Greeke Tongue, by an unknowne Author. Afterwards Translated into Spanish; after that, for the Excellency thereof, into the French Tongue by N. H. next by B. M. into the Thuscan, and now turn'd into English Verse by L. L. [i.e. Leonard Lawrence] a well-wisher to the Muses |
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To the Noble-minded Reader.
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 | A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight |  |
To the Noble-minded Reader.
Sir , if my Lines should chance come untoThe worthy prospect of your noble view,
Although they are (I must confesse) unfit
To walke in equipage with better Wit;
Nor worth th'observance of your curious Eye,
Yet read them pray, and passe their faults; for why
A stocke ungrafted never yet could yeeld
Such pleasant fruite as pruned Trees: the Field
Untill'd (you know) can nothing else produce,
Unlesse wilde weeds, good to no wholesome use.
Wild Grapes, though prest, yeeld not such pleasant wines
As the rich clusters of the manur'd Vines:
Or can the Crab-tree such an Apple beare
As the faire Pippin; then Sir, shall I dare
Presume to thinke my Genius or my Braines
Can Echo forth such high Cothurnick straines,
As those ingenious Wits, who well may claime
The sacred Title of a Poets name?
Farre be't from me to harbour such a thought,
Since in respect of such, I'me worse than nought
By many thousands: thus your pardon daigne,
Excuse my faults, 'twill recompense my paine:
This Worke to finish, which, I now have sent.
For since Report had falsely blaz'd, that I
Could steale whole Verses, but not versifie,
I chose a Subject thereby to expresse
The skill I have, how to compact a Verse.
Yet Sirs, beare with me, though they doe not run
With fluent straines most sweetly on your tongue.
I ne're was lull'd asleepe upon the lap
Of some sweete Muse, I never tooke a nap
Under the shadie Leaves of Phœbus Tree,
The Groves of Temple I did never see.
Th'are the first blossomes of my unskill'd Braine,
Which if you please to cherish and maintaine,
With the bright Sun-shine of your favour, then
The nipping Frosts of selfe-opinionate men,
Nor Envies blasts shall never have the power
To crop the Bud of this my growing Flower.
This if you grant, 'twill tye me to remaine
Your constant Friend, to which I signe my Name.
L. Lavvrence.
| A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight | |