 | The Melancholie Knight |  |
To Respectiue Readers.
Gallants expect no idle newes,For carrying tales I scorne to vse,
Imploy their tongues that way who will,
Mens heads with strange reports to fill,
Of what is done in forraigne lands
I cleer from those things wash my hands,
I meddle not like light-brain'd men,
VVith this and that, and where & when,
And how and which and what and why,
And thus, and so, I scorne it I,
I haue a melancholy Scull
Is almost fractur'd tis so full
To ease the same these lines I write,
Tobacco boy a pipe, some light.
| The Melancholie Knight | |