 | G: W. senior to the author |  |
G: W. senior, to the Author
Darke is the day, when Phœbus face is shrowded,and weaker sights may wander soone astray:
but when they see his glorious raies vnclowded,
with steddy steps they keepe the perfect way,
So while this Muse in forraine landes doth stay,
inuention weepes, and pens are cast aside,
the time like night, depriud of chearefull day,
and few do write, but (ah) too soone may slide.
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide,
and with thy wit illustrate Englands fame,
dawnting thereby our neighoures auncient pride,
that do for poesie, challendge cheefest name.
So we that liue and ages that succeede,
With great applause thy learned works shall reede.
| G: W. senior to the author | |