For love of virtue and of martial praise,
478 To which though nobly you inclined are,
479 As goodly well you showed in late assays,

late assays > recent assaults (a reference to the Portugal expedition
of 1589, designed to liberate Portugal from the Spanish)

480 Yet brave example of long passed days,

brave > [a, this] splendid

481 In which true honour you may fashioned see,
482 To like desire of honour may you raise,

like > [a] similar

483 And fill your mind with magnanimity.

magnanimity > greatness of spirit

484 Receive it, lord, therefore, as it was meant:
485 For honour of your name and high descent.
486 _E. S._
487
488
489 _To the most honourable and excellent Lo. the Earle_
490 of Essex. Great Maister of the Horse to her Highnesse,
491 and knight of the Noble order of the Garter. &c.
492
493 _MAgnificke Lord, whose vertues excellent
494 Doe merit a most famous Poets witt,
495 To be thy liuing praises instrument,
496 Yet doe not sdeigne, to let thy name be writt
497 In this base Poeme, for thee far vnfitt.
498 Nought is thy worth disparaged thereby,
499 But when my Muse, whose fethers nothing flitt
500 Doe yet but flagg, and lowly learne to fly
501 With bolder wing shall dare alofte to sty
502 To the last praises of this Faery Queene,
503 Then shall it make more famous memory
504 Of thine Heroicke parts, such as they beene:
505 Till then vouchsafe thy noble countenaunce,
506 To these first labours needed furtheraunce._
507
508
488
489 _To the Most Honourable and Excellent Lord, the Earl
490 of Essex. Great Master of the Horse to Her Highness,

Essex > (Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, 1566-1601, Leicester's
stepson and, in her old age, Elizabeth's favourite)

491 and Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter, etc._
492
493 Magnific lord, whose virtues excellent

Magnific > Renowned, glorious; magnificent

494 Do merit a most famous poet's wit

wit > mind, intellectual capacity

495 To be your living praises' instrument,
496 Yet do not sdeign to let your name be written

sdeign > disdain

497 In this base poem, for you far unfit.
498 Naught is your worth disparaged thereby,
499 But when my Muse, whose feathers, nothing flit,

nothing > not a