For no ich of greater name, which some clame By their verses do I show it To the world; nor to protest Tis the best These are leane faults in a poet Nor to make it serve to feed at my neede Nor to gaine acquaintance by it Nor to ravish kinde Atturnies, in their journies. Nor to read it after diet Farre from me are all these Ames Fittest frames To build weakenesse on and pitty Onely to your selfe, and such whose true touch Makes all good; let me seeme witty. _The Admirer of your vertues_, John Fletcher. These verses are in A and B. _To the perfect gentleman Sir_ Robert Townesend. If the greatest faults may crave Pardon where contrition is (Noble Sir) I needes must have A long one; for a long amisse If you aske me (how is this) Upon my faith Ile tell you frankely, You love above my meanes to thanke yee. Yet according to my Talent As sowre fortune loves to use me A poore Shepheard I have sent, In home-spun gray for to excuse me. And may all my hopes refuse me: But when better comes ashore, You shall have better, newer, more. Til when, like our desperate debters, Or our three pild sweete protesters I must please you in bare letters And so pay my debts; like jesters, Yet I oft have seene good feasters, Onely for to please the pallet, Leave great meat and chuse a sallet. _All yours_ John Fletcher: These lines are in A and B. To the Reader.