 | Songs of a Stranger |  |
Whoe'er may chaunce upon thys lyttel booke
A moment's time to pause, may call to mynde
That lyfe itself is one, whereon we looke
With eye of praise or blame, whenas we fynde
Our faults scann'd light, or hardlie, by mankynde.
Soe, gentil reader, take not moche amisse
What our hight authore may have been inclyn'd
Herein to rite:—as he but meneth thys,
To shew his booke, lyke lyfe, a varied volume is.
Old Poem.
A moment's time to pause, may call to mynde
That lyfe itself is one, whereon we looke
With eye of praise or blame, whenas we fynde
Our faults scann'd light, or hardlie, by mankynde.
Soe, gentil reader, take not moche amisse
What our hight authore may have been inclyn'd
Herein to rite:—as he but meneth thys,
To shew his booke, lyke lyfe, a varied volume is.
Old Poem.
| Songs of a Stranger | |