human
Yours, W. W.
gpt
To the Gentlemen Readers,
human
Gentlemen, The Swan sings melodiously before death, that in all his life time vseth but a iarring sound. _Greene_, though able inough to write, yet deeplyer searched with sicknesse than euer heretofore, sendes you his swanne-like song, for that he feares he shall neuer againe carroll to you woonted loue layes, neuer againe discouer to you youth's pleasures. Howeuer yet sicknesse, riot, incontinence, haue at once shown their extremitie, yet if I recouer, you shall all see more fresh springs then euer sprang from me, directing you how to liue, yet not diswading you from loue. This is the last I haue writ, and I feare me the last I shall write. And how euer I haue beene censured for some of my former bookes, yet, Gentlemen, I protest, they were as I had special information. But passing them, I commend this to your fauourable censures, and like an Embrion without shape, I feare me will bee thrust into the world. If I liue to ende it, it shall be otherwise: if not, yet will I commend it to your courtesies, that you may as wel be acquainted with my repentant death, as you haue lamented my carelesse course of life. But as _Nemo ante obitum felix_, so _Acta exitus probat_: Beseeching therefore to bee deemed hereof as I deserue, I leaue the worke to your liking, and leaue you to your delights.
gpt
and has not
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Greene's Epitaph: Discoursed Dialogue-wise betweene Life and Death,