 | A Masque of the Metamorphos'd Gypsies |  |
THE PROLOGUE AT Windsor.
As many blessings as there be bonesIn Ptolome's fingers and all at ones,
Held up in Andrewes Crosse for the nones.
Light on you good Master,
I dare be no waster
Of time, or of speech
Where you are in place:
I onely beseech
You take in good grace,
Our following the Court,
Since 'tis for your sport
To have you still merrie,
And not make you wearie.
We may strive to please,
So long (some will say) till we grow a disease
But you Sir, that twice
Have grac't us alreadie, encourage to thrice;
Wherein if our boldnesse your patience invade,
Forgive us the fault that your favour hath made.
| A Masque of the Metamorphos'd Gypsies | |