|The Avthor To The Reader|
| Of Syon if thou be, good friend I greete thee well,|
If not, God furnish thee in better hope to dwell.
Some paynes here haue I spent, the papistes to perswade,
His treason to repent, and take a better trade.
If not I bring him newes, that hanging is his hire,
Which scarsly will excuse, the tormentes of hell fire.
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| O Lord our father deere, through thy beloued Sonne,|
Who els art but an vpright iudge, to geue vs dolefull doome.
Thy seate is in the heauens, which man cannot conceaue.
Contayning all thinges, not contaynd, whome time is faine to leaue,
To whome all prayse is due, thy name most reuerent.
Whose kingdome still must . . .
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