[The[1967] open bruite of princes falles and such as bare sway in this realme, made mee poore haplesse woman (though once in great place,) presume to shew my selfe emong that infortunate flock. And making more haste then good speede, I appeared fyrst to one _Baldwine_ a minister and a preacher: whose function and calling disdaynes to looke so lowe, as to searche the secrets of wanton women, (though commonly a preacher with sufferaunce may rebuke vice.) Wherefore I haue better bethought mee, and so doe sodaynly appeale and appeare to some martiall man, who hath more experience both in defending of women’s honour, and knowes somwhat more of theyr conditions and qualityes: and the rather because my tragedy was in question among some that would not spare due commendation to the autor therof. I now appeare to him that fyrst set mee forth, a writer of good continuaunce, and one that dayly is exercised to set out both matter tragicall, and other prophane histories and verses, whose name is _Churchyard_: hee shall not only haue the fame of his owne worke (which no man can deny)[1968] but shall likewise haue all the glory I can gieue him, if hee lend mee the hearing of my woefull tale, a matter scarce fit for woman’s shamefastnes to bewray. But since without blushing I haue so long beene a talkatiue wench (whose words a world hath delighted in) I will now goe on boldly with my audacious manner: and so step I on the stage in my shrowdeing sheete as I was buried.] How _Shore’s_ wife, King _Edward_ the Fourth’s Concubine, was by King _Richard_ despoyled of all her goods, and forced to doe open penaunce. 1. Among the rest, by fortune ouerthrowne, I am not least, that most may wayle her fate: My fame and bruite abroade the world is blowne, Who can forget, a thing thus done so late? My great mischaunce, my fall, and heauy state, Is such a marke, whereat each tongue doth shoote, That my good name is pluckt vp by the roote. 2. This wandring world bewitched mee with wyles, And won my wits, with wanton sugred ioyes: In fortune’s frekes, who trustes her when shee smiles, Shall finde her false, and full of fickle toyes, Her triumphs all, but fill our eares with noyse, Her flattring giftes, are pleasures mixt with payne, Yea, all her wordes are thunders threatning rayne. 3. The fond desire that wee in glory set, Doth thirle our hearts to hope in slipper hap, A blast of pompe is all the fruite wee get, And vnder that lies hid a sodayne clap: In seeking rest vnwares wee fall in trap, In groping flowres with nettels stong wee are, In labring long wee reape the crop of care. 4.