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To CYNTHIA.
OFfend not, faire Dame; Though the Lines of my Picture change and varie. The World runnes on Wheeles, all things therein mooue without intermission: the solide Earth, the rockes of Caucasus, and the Pyramids of Memphis; both with publike, and their owne motion. Constancie it selfe, is nothing but a languishing and a wauering daunce. I am a Pamphilus, and can not settle my obiect. And since my Loue runnes staggering with a naturall drunkennes, I pray thee (vertuous Cynthia) with patience peruse those Poyems: And (as Aristip∣pus sayd to his man, who by the way was ouer bur∣dened with too much money) carry what you may, and cast away the rest.
Your La. howsoeuer, and wheresoeuer. Ad Cynthiam.
Nil forma natura tuae, nihil astra negarunt,Vna supercilij si tibi dempta nota.