Chapter_11

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Magnificke Lord, whose vertues excellent,

Doe merit a most famous Poets witt

To be thy living praises instrument,

Yet doe not sdeigne to let thy name be writt

In this base Poeme, for thee far unfitt:

Nought is thy worth disparaged thereby;

But when my Muse, whose fethers, nothing flitt,

Doe yet but flagg, and lowly learne to fly,

With bolder wing shall dare alofte to sty

To the last praises of this Faery Queene;

Then shall it make more famous memory

Of thine Heroicke parts, such as they beene:

Till then, vouchsafe thy noble countenaunce

To these first labours needed furtheraunce.