Hence, just as the daring and confidence of the one might be condemned, by reason of the excessive license which accompanies security; so, too, the mistrust and tardiness of the other is vicious, since late or never does he by the fruits of his intellect and study benefit those who expect and desire such aids and examples, to make progress in their pursuits. Shunning these two difficulties, I have not published this book before now, nor yet did I desire to keep it back longer for myself alone, seeing that my intellect composed it for more than for my pleasure alone. I know well that what is usually condemned is that no one excels in point of the style which ought to be maintained in it, for the prince of Latin poetry was blamed for having reached a higher level in some of his eclogues more than in others; and so I shall not have much fear that any one may condemn me for having mingled philosophical discourses with some loving discourses of shepherds, who rarely rise beyond treating of things of the field, and that with their wonted simplicity. But when it is observed (as is done several times in the course of the work) that many of the disguised shepherds in it were shepherds only in dress, this objection falls to the ground. The remaining objections that might be raised as regards the invention and ordering may be palliated by the fixed intention of him who reads, if he will do so with discretion, and by the wish of the author, which was to please, doing in this what he could and actually did, achieve; for even though the work in this part do not correspond to his desire, he offers others, yet to come, of better taste and greater art. BY LUIS GÁLVEZ DE MONTALVO. TO THE AUTHOR. SONNET. What time thy neck and shoulders thou didst place, Submissive, 'neath the Saracenic yoke, And didst uphold, with constancy unbroke Amidst thy bonds, thy faith in God's own grace, Heaven rejoiced, but earth was for a space, Without thee, well-nigh widowed: desolate, Filled with lament and sadness for thy state, Was left the Muses' royal dwelling-place. But since that, from amidst the heathen host, Which kept thee close, thy manly soul and tongue Thou didst unto thy native land restore, Heaven itself of thy bright worth makes boast, The world greets thy return with happy song, And the lost Muses Spain receives once more. BY DON LUIS DE VARGAS MANRIQUE. SONNET.