 | A Woman Kilde with Kindnesse |  |
The Prologue.
I come but like a Harbenger being sent,To tell you what these preparations meane:
Looke for no glorious state, our muse is bent
Vpon a barrein subiect: a bare sceane.
We could afford this twig a Timber tree,
Whose strength might boldly on your fauours build,
Our Russet, Tissew: Drone, a Hony-Bee,
Our barrein plot, a large and spacious fielde.
Our course fare, banquets: our thin Water, Wine:
Our Brooke, a Sea: our Bats eyes, Eagles sight:
Our Poets dull and earthy muse, Diuine:
Our Rauens, Doues: our Crowes blacke fethers, white.
But gentle thoughts when they may giue the foyle,
Saue them that yeeld, and spare where they may spoyle.
| A Woman Kilde with Kindnesse | |