Loe I haue made a Calender for euery yeare . .
And if I marked well the starres reuolution,
It shall continewe till the worlds dissolution . . .
Goe lyttle Calender, thou hast a free passeporte,
Goe but a lowly gate emongste the meaner sorte.
Dare not to match thy pype with Tityrus his style,
Nor with the Pilgrim that the Ploughman playde a whyle:
But followe them farre off, and their high steppes adore,
The better please, the worse despise, I aske nomore.
