liked to have passed the press, if the author had not used speedy means of
prevention; when, perceiving the hazard he ran to be wronged, was
unwillingly[AU] willing to let them pass as now they appear to the world.
If any faults have escaped the press (as few books can be printed
without), impose them not on the author, I intreat thee; but rather impute
them to mine and the printer's oversight, who seriously promise, on the
re-impression hereof, by greater care and diligence for this our former
default, to make thee ample satisfaction. In the mean while, I remain

Thine,

ED. BLOUNT[AV].

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[AT] _Gentile, or Gentle_, 8th edit. 1650.

[AU] Willingly, 8th edit. evidently a typographical error.

[AV] Edward Blount, who lived at the Black Bear, Saint Paul's Church-yard,
appears to have been a bookseller of respectability, and in some respects
a man of letters. Many dedications and prefaces, with as much merit as
compositions of this nature generally possess, bear his name, and there is
every reason to suppose that he translated a work from the Italian, which
is intituled "_The Hospitall of Incurable Fooles_," &c. 4to. 1600. Mr.
Ames has discovered, from the Stationer's Register, that he was the son of
Ralph Blount or Blunt, merchant-taylor of London; that he was apprenticed
to William Ponsonby, in 1578, and made free in 1588. It is no slight
honour to his taste and judgment, that he was one of the partners in the
first edition of Shakspeare.

MICROCOSMOGRAPHY;

_or_,

_A piece of the World characterized_.

I.

A CHILD

Is a man in a small letter, yet the best copy of Adam before he tasted of
Eve or the apple; and he is happy whose small practice in the world can
only write his character. He is nature's fresh picture newly drawn in oil,
which time, and much handling, dims and defaces. His soul is yet a white
paper[1] unscribbled with observations of the world, wherewith, at length,
it becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely happy, because he knows no
evil, nor hath made means by sin to be acquainted with misery. He arrives
not at the mischief of being wise, nor endures evils to come, by
fore-seeing them. He kisses and loves all, and, when the smart of the rod
is past, smiles on his beater. Nature and his parents alike dandle him,
and tice him on with a bait of sugar to a draught of wormwood. He plays
yet, like a young prentice the first day, and is not come to