PREFACE
Muse why doth thee shun me andst leave my fancy sterile that all that canst I write be But trite for no dreams canst I obtain to put upon the page writ no words to paint no inventions fine to house my wit that doth seem to be But blinde this tongue of I with which I doth use ast mine pen be But blunt feeble be my verse andst all that I doth win is But my own distain my own pain at my enfeeble fruitless brain Ohh Muse why doth thee abandon me is it be that thee doth not finde me worthy