To the learned, and accomplisht Gentleman, Maister Nicholas Blackleech, of Grayes Inne.
To you, that know the tuch of true Conceat;
(Whose many gifts I neede not to repeat)
I write these Lines: fruits of vnriper yeares;
Wherein my Muse no harder censure feares:
Hoping in gentle Worth, you will them take;
Not for the gift but for the giuers sake.
