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Oh how I greeue that late borne Modestie Hath gott such roote in easie waxen hartes, That men may not them selues, their owne good partes Extoll, with out suspect of Surquedrie. For but thy selfe noe subiect can bee fownde Worthy, thy quill, nor any quill resound Thy worke, but thine: how good it were to see A Poem in thy praise, and writt by thee. Now if this Songe bee to harsh for Rime, yett as The Paynters bad God made A good Deuill; Twill bee good proofe, allthough the verse bee evill, If thou forgett the Ryme, as thou dost passe Then write, then I may followe, and soe bee Thy debtor, thy Eccho, the foyle, thy Zane, I shall bee thought, If myne, like thine I shape All the Worlds Lion, though I bee thy Ape.| Haste thee harsh verse, as fast as thy lame measure Will giue thee leaue to him, my paine, and pleasure I haue giuen thee, And yett thou art to weake, Feete, and A reasoninge Soule, and tounge to speake: Tell him all questions, which Men haue defended Both of the place, and paines of Hell, are eanded. And tis decreede, our Hell is but Priuation Of him, att least, in this Earths habitation; And tis where I am; where in every Streete Infections follow, overtake, and meete, [CW: Liue I] |
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