 | The London Prodigal |  |
To the Reader.
This Figure, that thou here seest put,It was for gentle Shakespeare cut;
Wherein the Graver had a strife
With Nature, to out-doe the Life:
O, could he but have drawn his Wit
As well in Brasse, as he has hit
His Face; the Print would then surpasse
All, that was ever writ in Brasse.
But since he cannot, Reader, look
Not on his Picture, but his Book.
B. J.
| The London Prodigal | |