This page needs to be proofread.
The Preface.
xix
Mais moi, grace au Destin, qui n'ai ni feu ne lieu,
Je me logeoù je puis, &comme il plaist à Dieu. Sat. vi.
Je me logeoù je puis, &comme il plaist à Dieu. Sat. vi.
And in that which follows,
Et tel, en vous lisant, admire chaque traité,
Qui dans le fond de l'ame, & vous craint & vous hait.
Qui dans le fond de l'ame, & vous craint & vous hait.
Let Lydgate, Chaucer's Scholar also be brought in for a Voucher;
For Chaucer that my after was and knew
What did belong to writing Verse and Prose,
He'er thumbled at small faults, nor yet and view
With scornful Eye the Works and Books of those
That in his time did write, nay yet would taunt
At any Man, to fear him or to daunt.
What did belong to writing Verse and Prose,
He'er thumbled at small faults, nor yet and view
With scornful Eye the Works and Books of those
That in his time did write, nay yet would taunt
At any Man, to fear him or to daunt.
Tho' the Verse is somewhat antiquated, yet the Example ought not to be despised by our modern Criticks, especially those who have any Respect for Chaucer.
I might give more Instances out of John Harding, and our good old Citizen, Alderman Fabian, besides many others: but out of that Respect to the nice Geny of our Time, which they seldom allow to others, I will hasten to the Times of greater Politeness, and desire that room may be made, and attention given to a Person of no less Wit than Honour, the Earl of Surrey, who at least had all the Elegancy of a gentle Muse, that may deserve the Praises of our Sex.
Her Praise I tune whose Tongue doth tune the Spheres,
And gets new Muses in her Hearers Ears.
Stars fall to fetch fresh Light from her rich Eyes,
Her bright Brow drives the Sun to Clouds beneath.
And gets new Muses in her Hearers Ears.
Stars fall to fetch fresh Light from her rich Eyes,
Her bright Brow drives the Sun to Clouds beneath.
Again,
