'Ban and Arriere Ban!' a host
Broken, beaten, all unled,
They return as doth a ghost
From the dead.
Sad or glad my rallied rhymes,
Sought our dusty papers through,
For the sake of other times
Come to you.
Times and places new we know,
Faces fresh and seasons strange
But the friends of long ago
Do not change.
ERRATUM: Reader, a blot hath escaped the watchfulness of the
setter forth: if thou wilt thou mayst amend it. The sonnet on the
forty-fourth page, against all right Italianate laws, hath but
thirteen lines withal: add another to thy liking, if thou art a
Maker; or, if thou art none, even be content with what is set
before thee. If it be scant measure, be sure it is choicely good.
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