ABSTRACT
Now to London must I turn me—London, that turneth from none of thy left-hand impieties. As great a desolation as Jerusalem hath London deserved: whatsoever of Jerusalem I have written was but to lend her a looking-glass. Now enter I into my true tears, my tears for London; wherein I crave pardon though I deal more searchingly than common soul-surgeons accustom, for in this book wholly have I bequeathed my pen and my spirit to the prosternating and enfurrowing the frontiers of sin. So let it be acceptable to God and His church what I write, as no man in this treatise I will particularly touch; none I will semovedly allude to, but only attaint vice in general.
