CCXI sociable letters written by the thrice noble, illustrious, and excellent princess, the Lady Marchioness of Newcastle.

TO THE CENSORIOUS READER.

REader, you'l think, perchance, my Wit in Fault, Like Meat that's too much Brin'd, and Over∣salt, But better Poets far than I have been, Have written Sharper, and with Greater Splene, Yet they have much been Prais'd for writing so, And on Advancing Stigues of Fame do go; But my Poor VVritings they no Malice know, Nor on a Crabbed Nature did they Grow; I to Particulars give no Abuse, My Wit Indites for Profitable Use, That Men may see their Follies, and their Crimes, Their Errours, Vanities, and Idle Times, Not that I think they do not Know them well, But lest they should Forget, Im' Bold to tell, For to Remember them, like those that Ride, Not thinking, on their VVay, may chance to Slide, Or Fall into a Ditch, so I for Fear Bid them take Heed, Beware, and have a Care,

For there are Stumps of Trees, or a Deep Pit, Or Dangerous Passages where Thieves do sit And VVait, or Ravenous Beasts do lye for Prey, Or such a Lane where's Foul and Dirty VVay, And so of VVaters, and each Dangerous place: But I write not to any mans Disgrace; Then Censure not my Satyr-wit for Crime, Nor putting this Epistle into Rime.