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To the scornfull Passenger.
SLight not my lines, nor lay my labours by,
Laugh not to scorn, because the Author's I:
I know thou'st come, and with disdainfull look,
Wilt, passing by, say, what's this Mercers book?
But Mercers book, if thou couldst take the time,
Or stay from Taverns, to peruse his rime:
Will pay thee home, presuming to appear,
Or lay thy hands upon these Persons here.
Without thou stand bareheaded, and a farre,
Such one as thou shouldst not come wherethey are.
Forbear therefore, in silence, stand aside,
Or take not notice, Mercer makes a pride▪
If he approach, and sples such in the place,
To look amisse: he spits into their face.
VV. M.