Chapter_7

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To you, right noble Lord, whose carefull brest

To menage of most grave affaires is bent;

And on whose mightie shoulders most doth rest

The burdein of this kingdomes governement,

As the wide compasse of the firmament

On Atlas mighty shoulders is upstayd,

Unfitly I these ydle rimes present,

The labor of lost time, and wit unstayd:

Yet if their deeper sence be inly wayd,

And the dim vele, with which from commune vew

Their fairer parts are hid, aside be layd,

Perhaps not vaine they may appeare to you.

Such as they be, vouchsafe them to receave,

And wipe their faults out of your censure grave.