itus est sitiens atque ebrius_ Eldertonus,
_Quid dico; hic situs est; hic potius sitis est_.

Now, Sir, all my Ambition, that I address these _Lines_ unto you, is,
that you will pardon the Defects I have committed herein, as having
done my good will in so short an _Epitome_ to lay a _Ground-work_, on
which may be built a _sumptuous Structure_; a Work well worthy the Pen
of a second _Plutarch_; since Poetical Devices have been well esteemed.
even amongst them who have been ignorant of what they are; as the
judicious Mr. _Cambden_ reports of _Sieur Gauland_, who, when he heard
a Gentleman express that he was at a Supper, where they had not only
good Company and good Chear, but also savoury _Epigrams_, and fine
_Anagrams_; he returning home, rated and belowted his _Cook_, as an
ignorant _Scullion_, that never dressed or served up to him either
_Epigrams_ or _Anagrams_.

But, _Sir_, I intrench upon your Patience, and shall no further; only
subscribing my self,

_Your Worship's ever_
_to be Commanded_,

William Winstanley.

* * * * *

THE PREFACE TO THE READER.

As we account those Books best written which mix Profit with Delight,
so, in my opinion, none more profitable nor delightful than those of
Lives, especially them of Poets, who have laid out themselves for the
publick Good; and under the Notion of Fables, delivered unto us the
highest Mysteries of Learning. These are the Men who in their Heroick
Poems have made mens Fames live to eternity; therefore it were pity
(faith _Plutarch_) that those who write to Eternity, should not live so
too. Now above all Remembrances by which men have endeavoured even in
despight of Death, to give unto their Fames eternity, for Worthiness
and Continuance, Books, and Writings, have ever had the Preheminence;
which made _Ovid_ to give an endless Date to himself, and to his
_Metamorphosis_, in these Words;

_Famque Opus exegi, &c._

Thus Englished by the incomparable Mr. _Sandys_.

_And now the Work is ended, which_ Jove's _Rage,_
_Nor Fire, nor Sword, shall raze, nor eating Age,_
_Come when it will, my Death's uncertain hour_
_Which only of my Body hath a power;_
_Yet shall my better Part transcend the Sky,_
_And my immortal Name shall never dy:_
_For wherefoe're the_ Roman _Eagles spread_
_Their conquering Wings, I shall of all be read._
_And if we Prophets truly can divine,_
_I in my living Fame shall e