Angliæ speculum: or Englands looking-glasse.: Devided into two pats [sic], / by C.VV. Mercer.

TO THE RIGHT HONOƲRABLE, Lord Major of the Citie of LONDON. WITH The Honourable Aldermen, and the rest of the Common-councell-men.

REnowned worthies; when I weigh your fame, Your greatnesse, lustre, and your vertuous Name, Your wisedome, knowledge, providence, and arts, Your grace, your goodnes, and diviner parts, The Zeal, the love, the charities, and what Belongs, as proper attributes to that▪ Your power, your plenty, with your worth, and wit, Your faith and forward arguments of it; The highest honour of your enterprise, Which from the secret of your hearts arise,

Your noble Natures, not enough admired, Your reall actions, active, and untyred, Your constant Cariage, and uncessant care, The vast expences, daily you prepare; Your paines and practice, in a pleasant kinde, Proceeding from your piety of minde: Makes up a modell of admyred worth, To beautifie, and set your glory forth, Before whose feast, in presence of whose table, And in whose eyes, so high and honorabel, My meane designes, or infants of my Muse, Scarce date approach; yet doubting to refuse, They do draw nigh; submissively to tender▪ Those true intentions, which I freely render, In these few lines, Characters here, insert, As reall Emblems, of a zealous heart, And do acknowledge I am bound to prayse, Those who may claime, such Epithets as these, Grave Judges then, admit me as I am, Though one unworthy; yet with what I came Contemne the treasure, not a whit for mee, Although I bring it, yet behold, and see, What I present, and at your vacant how'rs, Look on his lynes, whose life is wholly yours. I have contrived in a mean degree, Though not the whole, yet an Epitomie, Of Englands troubles, and a true relation, Of all the sufferings, of this famous Nation, The cause was Gods, the glory is your own, You have maintain'd the truth, and made it known, I need not bid you perseveer, you are, I do perceive you, what you alwaies were, I only throw my myte into your store, To shew affection not to make it more, And do advise you, humbly to eschew, The bad divisions, of a factious crue,

Go on with courage, as you have done ay, It is the evening, that doth crowne the day: Your Fame is flown' with its wings so far, You do not know what things reported are, The eyes of Europe, opened are to view, If you continue and prove constant true, Great be the Grander, wherein you may shine, And heaps of honour from a hand Divine, Be daily added in your heads, and then, You will appeare the rarest of all men, This is the sum: I have for to present, Your servant can afford no complement, Accept of these, and if you think it fit, As you are pleased let me heare of it, Your good acceptance may incourage much, I hope your Greatnes will vouchsafe me such, So shall my book bear witnes at your table, I am your Servant, Devoted as I am able.

W. M.