Image by 10012164 from Pixabay
Reader, who doth this rhyme peruse,
Attend: for I to thee will say,
That oft, when I have labour'd thus,
A thoughtless eye hath cast it away.
But yet I hope, that thou wilt stay
To read it to the end; and then,
If thou the least good dost not see,
Think of thyself, and not of me.
For, if my lines do not excel,
The fault is mine, and not thy mind;
For thou art free to let them dwell
Unread, or cast them to the wind.
But if thou seest some good therein,
Then take it to thyself, and say,
That this poor verse, though rudely writ,
Was made for thee, and not for it.
And if thou find'st a fault therein,
Think not it is because I lack'd
The skill to make it perfect fine,
But that I fear'd to make it lack.
For I have often seen, and so
May thou, that many a verse is made
So fine, that it is scarce understood,
And therefore read with little aid.
But this I hope thou wilt not do,
But read it through, and then, if thou
Find'st ought therein that pleaseth thee,
Think of the poet, not the verse.