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Poem	AFter so long a race as I haue run Through Faery land, which those six books co[m]pile giue leaue to rest me being halfe fordonne, and gather to my selfe new breath awhile. Then as a steed refreshed after toyle, out of my prison I will breake anew: and stoutly will that second worke assoyle, with strong endeuour and attention dew. Till then giue leaue to me in pleasant mew, to sport my muse and sing my loues sweet praise: the contemplation of whose heauenly hew, my spirit to an higher pitch will rayse. But let her prayses yet be low and meane, fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene.
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