ABSTRACT
I that have beene a lover, and could shew it, Though not in these, in rithmes not wholly dumbe, Since I exscribe your Sonnets, am become A better lover, and much better Poet. Nor is my Muse, or I asham’d to owe it To those true numerous Graces; whereof some, But charme the Senses, others over-come Both braines and hearts; and mine now best doe know it: For in your verse all Cupids Armorie, His flames, his shafts, his Quiver, and his Bow, His very eyes are yours to overthrow. But then his Mothers sweets you so apply, Her joyes, her smiles, her loves, as readers take For Venus Ceston, every line you make.
