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To the gentle Reader.

If verses you delight, with stately stile and sounding wordes
Which loftie swell, seeke Poetts bookes, which such high thinges affords,
You will perchance affirme, that of so high, & mighty a Queene
A worke should of more maiestie, and statelinesse be seene,
I worthie her confesse, whome Homer should in sugred verse,
Or with the Notes, of warbling Lute Apollo great rehearse.
I am no Poet, you pardon must me, since I pardon pray,
If that a bourden ouer vast, do downe my shoulders way.
My arte vnto the vertue yeeldes, of her a Prince so great,
Which shuld be sounded by a trompe more shril, with winds repleat
If others lye in silence shrinde, why should my Muse not sing?
But when her laud, in fluent phrase, from one more learnd shal spring
Then will I these my papers voyde the fiery flames to feed,
Meane time the honour of her Grace, let these my verses breede.