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To the Queenes highnes

Of all the bookes that euer Plutarke wrote,
More mete is none, when they haue time & space,
For Prynces all to rede and well to note:
Then this, whiche heare I offre to your grace.
For lyke as he, the good doth iustly praise,
The euill their faultes, so, plainlye dothe he tell,
And whilst he doth consider both their wayes:
He shewes wherein a Prince ought most texcell.
That is to saye in learnynge, wytte, and skill,
To tame affectes, and folowe reasons lore,
Whose steppes doe fle the wayes of froward will:
And treades the pathes of iustice euermore.
And though this Boke, your highnes oft hath redde,
In Grekyshe prose as Plutarke did it wright:
My rurall muse, for that, yeat, had no dredde
In Englysh verse, agayne the same tendight.
Presuminge of the fauor whyche she fownde,
When that she sange, what fruites of foes might ryse
And that your grace, gaue eare vnto the sownde
Of suche rude ryme, as she did then deuyse.
Wherfore now harke my liege and souraigne Quene
What Plutarke sayeth of Prynces good and badde
Who yf he were alyue to Iudge: I wene,
Of all the Quenes in honour to be had,
Your learninge, and your vertues pondred well,
He would your grace, should onely beare the bell.
Your maiesties most humble Subiecte Thomas Blondeuille.