n all
is well. Here you may perhaps find some leaves of Venus' myrtle, but
hewn down by a soldier with his curtal-axe, not bought with the
allurement of a filed tongue. To be brief, gentlemen, room for a
soldier and a sailor, that gives you the fruits of his labors that he
wrote in the ocean, when every line was wet with a surge, and every
humorous passion counterchecked with a storm. If you like it, so; and
yet I will be yours in duty, if you be mine in favor. But if Momus or
any squint-eyed ass, that hath mighty ears to conceive with Midas, and
yet little reason to judge; if he come aboard our bark to find fault
with the tackling, when he knows not the shrouds, I'll down into the
hold, and fetch out a rusty pole-axe, that saw no sun this seven year,
and either well baste him, or heave the coxcomb overboard to feed
cods. But courteous gentlemen, that favor most, backbite none, and
pardon what is overslipped, let such come and welcome; I'll into the
steward's room, and fetch them a can of our best beverage. Well,
gentlemen, you have Euphues' Legacy. I fetched it as far as the island
of Terceras, and therefore read it; censure with favor, and farewell

Yours, T.L.

ROSALYNDE

There dwelled adjoining to the city of Bordeaux a knight of most
honorable parentage, whom fortune had graced with many favors, and
nature honored with sundry exquisite qualities, so beautified with the
excellence of both, as it was a question whether fortune or nature
were more prodigal in deciphering the riches of their bounties. Wise
he was, as holding in his head a supreme conceit of policy, reaching
with Nestor into the depth of all civil government; and to make his
wisdom more gracious, he had that _salem ingenii_ and pleasant
eloquence that was so highly commended in Ulysses: his valor was no
less than his wit, nor the stroke of his lance no less forcible than
the sweetness of his tongue was persuasive; for he was for his courage
chosen the principal of all the Knights of Malta. This hardy knight,
thus enriched with virtue and honor, surnamed Sir John of Bordeaux,
having passed the prime of his youth in sundry battles against the
Turks, at last (as the date of time hath his course) grew aged. His
hairs were silver-hued, and the map of age was figured on his
forehead: honor sat in the furrows of his face, and many years were
portrayed in his wrinkled lineaments, that all men might perceive his
glass was run, and that nature of nece