[A murderer, or a thief, is given a trial by twelve men charged with clearing any doubts about rash judgement]

. . . But sweet Poesye
Is oft convict, condem'd, and judg'd to die
Without just triall, by a multitude
Whose judgements are illiterate, and rude.
Witnesse Scejanus, whose approved worth,
Sounds from the calme South, to the freezing North.
And on the perfum's wings of Zepherus,
In triumph mounts as farre as Æolus
With more then humane art it was bedewed,
Yet to the multitude it nothing shewed;
They screwed their scurvy jawes and look't awry,
Like hissing snakes adjudging it to die:
When wits of gentry did applaud the same,
With Silver shouts of high lowd sounding fame:
Whil'st understanding grounded men contemn'd it,
And wanting wit (like fooles to judge) condemn'd it.
Clapping, or hissing, is the onely meane
That tries and searches out a well writ Sceane.
So it is thought by Ignoramus crew,
But that good wits acknowledge's untrue;
The stinckards oft will hisse without a cause,
And for a baudy jeast will give applause.
Let one but aske the reason why they roare
They'l answere, cause the rest did so before.
But leaving these who for their just reward,
Shall gape, and gaze, among the fooles in th' yard.