Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies By H. B. [i.e. Henry Bold] |
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THE AUTHOR, TO THE READER.
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 | Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies |  |
THE AUTHOR, TO THE READER.
When as our English Poets, those happier menThat can drop wonders from their fluent pen:
Have with their miracles of Poetry
Feasted thy eares, and satisfi'd thy eye;
Then turn aside; and 'mongst the vulger things,
Place what my new-born Muse abruptly sings.
'T hath ventured hard to pleas thee, since tis prest:
If thou smile on it, I shall think my braine
Hath labour'd for this issue not in vain,
If otherwise thou do contemn my layes.
My pleasur's more to me, then all thy praise.
| Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies | |