We now have playde, Augustus, wantonly, Tuning our song unto a tender Muse, And, like a cobweb weaving slenderly, Have onely playde: let thus much then excuse This Gnats small poeme, that th'whole history 5 Is but a iest; though envie it abuse: But who such sports and sweet delights doth blame, Shall lighter seeme than this Gnats idle name.