Most Noble Lord, the pillor of my life, + 

And Patrone of my Muses pupillage; + 

Through whose large bountie, poured on me rife + 

In the first season of my feeble age, + 

I now doe live, bound yours by vassalage; + 

Sith nothing ever may redeeme, nor reave + 

Out of your endlesse debt, so sure a gage, + 

Vouchsafe in worth this small guift to receave, + 

Which in your noble hands for pledge I leave + 

Of all the rest that I am tyde t’account: + 

Rude rymes, the which a rustick Muse did weave + 

In savadge soyle, far from Parnasso Mount, + 

And roughly wrought in an unlearned Loome: + 

The which vouchsafe, dear Lord, your favorable doome. + 