Let Pride Go Afore, Shame

So Our Lives In Acts Exemplary, Not Only Win Ourselves Good Names, But Doth To Others Give Matter For Virtuous Deeds, By Which We Live.

Ignorance Is The Mother Of Admiration.

For One Heat, All Know, Doth Drive Out Another, One Passion Doth Expel Another Still.

And For The Authentical Truth Of Either Person Or Actions, Who (worth The Respecting) Will Expect It In A Poem, Whose Subject Is Not Truth, But Things Like Truth? Poor Envious Souls They Are That Cavil At Truth's Want In These Natural Fictions; Material Instruction, Elegant And Sententious Excitation To Virtue, And Deflection From Her Contrary, Being The Soul, Limbs, And Limits Of An Authentical Tragedy.

I Pray, What Flowers Are These? The Pansy This, O, That's For Lover's Thoughts.