The Epistle to the Reader.

GENTLE READER,

I

Present to the publike view an abstract of new England; which I have undertaken

to compose by the incouragement of such genious spirits as have been studious of the inlargment of his Majesties Territories, being not formerly satisfied, by the relations of such as through haste, have taken but a superficiall survey thereof, which thing time hath enabled mee to performe more punctually to the life, and to give a more exact accompt of what hath been required; I have therefore beene willing to doe my indevoure to communicat the knowledge, which I have gained and collected together, by mine owne observation, in the time of my many yeares residence in those parts, to my loving Country men: For the better information of all such as are desirous to be made partakers of the blessings of God in that fertile Soyle, as well as those that, out of Curiosity onely have bin inquisitive after novelties. And the rather for that I have observed, how divers persons (not so well affected to the weale publike in mine opinion) out of respect to their owne private ends; have laboured to keepe both the practise of the people there, and the Reall worth of that eminent Country concealed

from publike knowledge, both which I have abundantly in this discourse layd open, yet if it be well accepted, I shall esteeme my selfe sufficiently rewardded for my undertaking. and

rest.

Your Wellwisher.

THOMAS MORTON.

In laudem Authoris.

'Excuse the Author ere the worke be shewne
Is accusation in it selfe alone,

T

And to commend him might seeme oversight,

So divers are th' opinions of this age,

So quick and apt, to taxe the moderne stage,
That hard his taske, is that must please in all
Example have wee from great Cæsars fall,
But is the sonne to be dislik'd and blam'd,
Because the mole is of his face asham'd,
The fault is in the beast not in the sonne
Give sicke mouthes sweete meates fy they relish none,
But to the sound in censure he commends,
His love unto his Country his true ends,
To modell out a Land of so much worth,
As untill now noe traveller seth forth,
Faire Canaans second selfe, second to none,
Natures rich Magazine till now unknowne,
Then here survay, what nature hath in store,
And graunt him love for this, he craves no more.

R. O. Gen.

Sir Christoffer Gardiner, Knight.

T

In laudem Authoris!!

His worke a matchles mirror is that shewes,
The Humors of the seperatiste, and those

So truely personated by thy pen,

"

I was amaz'd to see't, herein all men,
May plainly see as in an inter-lude,

J

Each actor, figure and the scene wel view'd,
In Connick Tragick and in a pastorall stife,
For tyth of muit and Cummin shewes their life,
Nothing but opposition, gainst the right,
Of sacred Majestie men, full of spight,
Goodnes abuseing, turning vertue out
Of Dores, to whipping stocking and full bent,
To plotting mischeife, gainst the innocent,
Burning their houses, as if ordained by fate,
In spight of Lawe, to be made ruinate, went
This taske is well perform'd and patience be,
Thy present comfort and thy constancy,
Thine honor, and this glasse where it shall come,
Shall sing thy praises till the day of doomed

Sir. G. C.

A

In laudem Authoris.

Vt that I rather pitty I confesse,

The practise of their Church, I could expresse

Myselfe a Satyrist; whose smarting fanges,
Should strike it with a palsy, and the panges,
Beget a feare, to tempt the Majesty,

Of those, or mortall Gods, will they defie
The Thundering Jove, like children they desire,
Such is their zeale, to sport themselves with fire, 1.
So have I seene an angry Fly, presume,

To strike a burning taper, and consume
His feeble wings, why in an aire so milde,
Are they so monstrous growne up, and so vilde,
That Salvages can of themselves espy

Their errors, brand their names with infamy,
What is their zeale for blood, like Cyrus thirst,
Will they be over head and eares, a curst

A cruell way to found a Church on, noe,
Tis not their zeale, but fury blinds them soe
And pricks their malice on like fier to joyne,
And offer up the sacrifice of Kain ;

Jonas, thou hast done well, to call those men
Home to repentance, with thy painefull pen.

"

F. C. Armiger.