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
Excuse the Author ere the worke be shewne
Is accusation in it selfe alone,
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.
Sir Christoffer Gardiner, Knight.
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,
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,
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 doome.
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,
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.
Fart & industry should doe as much
As Nature hath for Canaan, not such
Another place, for benefit and rest,
In all the universe can be possest,
The more we proove it by discovery,
The more delight each object to the eye
Procures, as if the elements had here
Bin reconcil'd, and pleas'd it should appeare,
Like a faire virgin, longing to be sped,
And meete her lover in a Nuptiall bed,
Deck'd in rich ornaments t' advaunce her state
And excellence, being most fortunate,
When most enjoy'd, so would our Canaan be
If well employ'd by art and industry
Whose offspring, now shewes that her fruitfull wombe
Not being enjoy'd, is like a glorious tombe,
Admired things producing which there dye,
And ly fast bound in darck obscurity,
The worth of which in each particuler,
Who list to know, this abstract will declare.
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