feare of God, the loue of thy Prince and countrey, and after this lyfe the fruition of perfecte felicitye, I doe bid thee hartely in Christe Iesu farewell. Thy frende, IOHN HIGINS.[81] THOMAS NEWTON TO THE READER, _in the behalfe of this Booke_. As when an arming sword of proofe is made, Both steele and yron must be tempred well: (For yron giues the strength vnto the blade, And steele, in edge doth cause it to excell) As ech good Bladesmith by his Arte can tell: For, without yron, brittle will it breake, And, without steele, it will bee blunt and weake: So bookes, that now theyr faces dare to show, Must mettald bee with Nature and with Skill: For Nature causeth stuffe enough to flow, And Arte the same contriues by learned quill In order good, and currant methode still. So that, if Nature frowne, the case is hard: And if Arte want, the matter all is marde. The worke, which here is offred to thy vewe, With both these poynts is full and fitly fraught; Set foorth by sundry of the learned Crewe: Whose stately styles haue Phœbus garland caught, And Parnasse mount theyr worthy works haue raught, Theyr wordes are thundred with such maiestie, As fitteth right ech matter in degree. Reade it therefore, but reade attentiuely, Consider well the drift whereto it tendes: Confer the times, perpend the history, The parties states and eke theyr dolefull endes, With odde euentes, that divine iustice sendes. For, thinges forepast are presidents to vs, Whereby wee may thinges present now discusse. Certes this worlde a Stage may well bee calde, Whereon is playde the parte of eu’ry wight: Some, now aloft, anon with malice galde Are from high state brought into dismall plight. Like counters are they, which stand now in sight For thousand or ten thousand, and anone Remooued, stande perhaps for lesse then one. 1587. THOMAS NEWTONUS, _Cestreshyrius_.[82] THE AUTHORS INDUCTION. 1. When Sommer sweete, with all her pleasures past, And leaues began, to leaue the shady tree, The winter colde encreased on full fast, And time of yeare to sadnes moued mee: For moysty blastes, not halfe so mirthfull bee, As sweete _Aurora_ bringes in spring time fayre, Our ioyes they dimme, as winter damps the ayre. 2.