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The Avthor To The Reader

Of Syon if thou be, good friend I greete thee well,
If not, God furnish thee in better hope to dwell.
Some paynes here haue I spent, the papistes to perswade,
His treason to repent, and take a better trade.
If not I bring him newes, that hanging is his hire,
Which scarsly will excuse, the tormentes of hell fire.
For such as haue regard, of God and Gods elect,
This pamphlet is preparde, although not finely deckt.
I way not what is sayd, for want of wit or skill,
Ne am I much afraid, though workemanship be ill.
The tidings yet are true, and trueth is worth the penne:
The blame that may ensue, is but from Balish men.
But duetie driues me forth, the cause conuenient,
Though labour little worth, the learned to content.
Yet this my silly quill, though voyd of Poets Art,
Doth offer my good will, accept it in good part:
My purpose doth pretend, the power and prayse of God,
And how he doth extend, his mercy and his rod.
His Rodd to punish those, that practise wicked wayes,
His mercy to disclose, the same to his great prayse.
Whereby the iust are taught, their manners for to mende:
And trayterous Papistes brought, to their deserued end.
This is the summe and fine, of my vnlearned tale,
The iust will not repine, at this my emptie male:
But rather helpe to fill, the same with better stuffe:
That schollers of more skill, may put the like in proofe.
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