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THE STATIONER TO

THE READER.

I

F new or old wit please the reader best,

I've hope each man of wit will be our guest, The new was fram'd to humor some mens taste; Which if they like not, they may carve the last: Each dish hath sauce belongs to't, and you will By your dislike, censure the Authors skill; Yet if you cannot speake well of it, spare To utter your dislike, that the like snare May entrap others; so the booke may bee Sold, though not lik'd, by a neate fallacy; That's all I aske yet 'twill your goodnes raise If as I gaine your coyn, he may your praise.

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I

Pray thee Battus, adde unto thy store

This booke of mine to make thy number more;

It is well bound, well printed, neatly strung,

And doth deserve to have a place among
Th' inhabitants of thy Vatican, if thou

Wilt so much favor to its worth allow.

2.

Gender and number.

Singular sins and plurall we commit;
And we in every gender vary it.

3. To Sr. John Suckling.

If learning will beseem a courtier well,

If honour waite on those who dare excell,
Then let not Poets envy but admire,

The eager flames of thy poetique fire;
For whilst the world loves wit, Aglaura shall,
Phoenix-like live after her funerall.

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Sweet-tongued Ovid, though strange tales he told,
Which gods and men did act in dayes of old,
What various shapes for love sometimes they took;
To purchase what they aym'd at; could he look,
But back upon himself he would admire,

The sumptuous bravery of that rich attire ;
Which Sands hath clad him with, & then place this
His change amongst their Metamorphosis.

5. To Mr. William Habbington on his Castara, a Poem.

Thy Muse is chaste and thy Castara too, 'Tis strange at Court, & thou hadst power to woo And to obtain (what others were deny'd)

The fair Castara for thy vertuous bride :

Enjoy what you dare wish, and may there bee, Fair issues branch from both, to honor thee.

6. To Mr. Francis Beaumont and Mr. John
Fletcher, gent.

Twin-stars of poetry, whom we justly may
Call the two-tops of learn'd Pernassus-Bay,
Peerlesse for freindship and for numbers sweet,
Whom oft the Muses swaddled in one sheet:
Your works shall still be prais'd and dearer sold,
For our new-nothings doel extoll your old.

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