Wherefore I am now bold to present Gismund to your sights, and unto yours only, for therefore have I conjured her, by the love that hath been these twenty-four years betwixt us, that she wax not so proud of her fresh painting, to straggle in her plumes abroad, but to contain herself within the walls of your house; so am I sure she shall be safe from the _tragedian tyrants_ of our time, who are not ashamed to affirm that there can no amorous poem savour of any sharpness of wit, unless it be seasoned with scurrilous words. But leaving them to their lewdness, I hope you, and all discreet readers, will thankfully receive my pains, the fruits of my first harvest: the rather, perceiving that my purpose in this tragedy tendeth only to the exaltation of virtue and suppression of vice, with pleasure to profit and help all men, but to offend or hurt no man. As for such as have neither the grace, nor the good gift, to do well themselves, nor the common honesty to speak well of others, I must (as I may) hear and bear their baitings with patience. Yours devoted in his ability, R. WILMOT. A PREFACE TO THE QUEEN'S MAIDENS OF HONOUR.[5] 1. A SONNET OF THE QUEEN'S MAIDS. They which tofore thought that the heaven's throne Is placed above the skies, and there do feign The gods and all the heavenly powers to reign, They err, and but deceive themselves alone. Heaven (unless you think mo be than one) Is here in earth, and by the pleasant side Of famous Thames at Greenwich court doth 'bide. And as for other heaven is there none. There are the goddesses we honour so: There Pallas sits: there shineth Venus' face: Bright beauty there possesseth all the place: Virtue and honour there do live and grow: There reigneth she such heaven that doth deserve, Worthy whom so fair goddesses should serve. 2. ANOTHER TO THE SAME. Flowers of prime, pearls couched all in gold, Light of our days, that glads the fainting hearts Of them that shall your shining gleams behold, Salve of each sore, recure of inward smarts, In whom virtue and beauty striveth so As neither yields: behold here, for your gain, Gismund's unlucky love, her fault, her woe, And death; at last her cruel father slain Through his mishap; and though you do not see, Yet read and rue their woful tragedy. So Jove, as your high virtues done deserve, Grant you such pheers[6] as may your virtues serve With like virtues; and blissful Venus send Unto your happy loves an happy end. 3. ANOTHER TO THE SAME.