 | Love Crownes the End |  |
The Prologue.
You starres of Honour, brighter than the day,Or new rais'd Phœbus in his morning Ray;
As rich in Wisedome as in Vertues rare;
Accept the choicest dish our wits prepare,
As a third course to please your eye, which still
Covets to have of novelties its fill.
We have not bundled up some Kick shawes here
To bid you welcome; Wee doe hate such geere.
Our braine's the Kitchin, and our wit's the meat,
Preparitive to which, wee bid you eat,
If lik't, if not refrain't; you Judges sit
To damne or save our not yet ripen'd wit:
So rest upon your goodnesse; if you frowne,
Our poore endeavours then are troden downe.
| Love Crownes the End | |