Since, what past Ages onlie had begun,
and ventur'd at, Thou hast exactlie done;
And that the Ancients, more precede not thee
in Time, then thou dost them, in Pœsie:
Staine not that Well-gaind Honour, with the crude,
or the rash Censure, of the Multitude
of Silken fooles; who cannot understand
(for they were borne not to have wit, but Land)
Thy sublim'd Soule; but daily doe preferre
those, who almost as diligentlie erre,
as thou dost write; more Comick rules mistake,
then thou observ'dst of old, or new dost make;
Revenge those wongs with pittie; for wee see,
t'is Ignorance in them, noe Crime in thee,
that moulds their Judgments, who ere chanc't to see,
the vast prodigious Louvre-Gallerie,
but at his Entrance (judging by his Eyes)
Would thinke the roof inclin'de, the floore did rise!
And at the end, each Equidistant Side,
mett in one Point! though, there, they bee as wide
as where he stood; soe they who now adaies
Come to behold, not understand thy Plaies;
With weak-ey'd Judgment, easelie may depresse
thy loftie Muse, extoll the Lowlines,
of trampled Poets; with Sinister Witt,
Contract thy Dexterous vaine to answear it,
and be deceav'd like him,, or as those Eyes,
Which, through grosse vapours. and thick ayre that flies
close to the earth, the riseing Sun can veiw,
and with deluded Sence doe judge it true,
that, then, hee's twice as Great, as when he hath ran,
and is inthron'd, in their Meridian.
Though at that time, he was more distant farre
then the Whole Earth's Semidiameter;
Even so these Gallants, when they chance to heare
A new Witt peeping in their Hemisphere,
Which they can apprehend, their clouded Braines,
Will straight admire, and Magnifie his Straines,
farre above thine; though all that he hath done,
is but a Taper, to thy brighter Sun;
Wound them with scorne! Who greives at such Fooles tongues,
doth not revenge, but gratifie their wrongs.
Who's doom'd to erre, unto himself must bee
An Heretique, if he judge right of Thee;
Icterick-eyes, all different colours thinke,
the same; What feaverish Palates drinke,
tast's ill, though nere so good; wee find by Sence,
ev'en Contraries may have Coincidence.
for, to a Smileing statue, let a hand
adde some few Teares, though all the lines els stand,
and Liniaments untouch't, it will appeare,
like Sorrowes figure, and the lively chere
Drown'd into Sadnes: soe when these bold Men,
blindlie misled, shall temerate thy Pen,
Adding their Censures; thou maist seeme to bee,
as different from Thy selfe, as they from Thee.
Wer't not the Sence I had of sacred writt,
I should have call'd it Blasphemy 'gainst witt,
And Sacriledge 'gainst Art; but when I see
They little knowe themselves, & farr less Thee,
Their dislike is thine Honour; Hee that's mov'd,
With such mens censures; graunteth it half prov'd
that he is guiltie; Innocence no Lawes,
Vertue feares no Detraction; t'is no cause,
Yet Argument of worth, in that t'is true,
Your Witt cannot suite them, nor their Braines you.
Could such poore Intellectualls as theirs,
But reach thy pitch, the Mind, that now admires,
Would then contemne Thee; Hee's esteem'd by none,
that can be understood by every one;
Fear'st then, thy Fame that warr's 'gainst Tyme; Thy Pen,
that triumph's, can be foil'd by Out-side Men?
Such Aromatique Trees? is't such a Grace
t'have pretious Barkes, when as the Timber's base?
Had they been halfe soe vers'd in Witt; so bred
in learned Authors, as they're deepelie read
in subtill Shop-Bookes, I confesse their Doome,
that give's thee a Laurell now, had giv'n thee a Toombe.
But scorne to stand, feare not to fall, by Votes
Of such imbroydered-glittering-Silver Coates!
The Capitol was sav'd, I doe confesse
by watchfull Geese; but when Roomes thankfulnes,
a silver goose erected, which there stood,
did that discover foes, or doe Roome good?
Nor can these Gilt-men, Thee. Thy dareing Pen,
that may contend with Fate, can that feare men?
When Roome, that quel'd the world, to thee had beene
a debtor for her Safetie (had she seene,
or beene so blest, as to have heard one lyne,
Which thy Pen wrote of bloody Cataline)
More, then to that vaine Consulls glorieing Style,
Whose every period seemes a German myle;
Whose fluent tongue, more lively, at that time,
exprest his owne vaine-glorie, then their Crime;
for words and Actions, might be easely knowne,
the thought's were only Cataline's, and thine owne.
And thou didst write, what he durst think, or dare:
Could wee now Question Cataline, and compare
Him with thy writeings, wee should sweare, almost,
thy Muse had beene Confessor, to his Ghost;
And his soules Characters in his Front had read,
Which threatned death, when he himself was dead.
Had shee read thy Sejanus life, and fate;
World's second Head! that Tympany of State!
She had a wonder scene, farr greater, then,
then was himselfe! him, equall'd by thy Pen!
Nay more a miracle; for on thy Stage,
Cæar's out done in Crafte, Rome in her rage.
The other workes, rais'd by thy skillfull hand,
pittying the Worlds old wonders, they shall stand
As Monuments of thee, more firme, amids
all envies blasts, then Ægypts Pyramids
Those burthens of the Earth, 'gainst laboring stormes;
Thus, then secur'd above the reach of Harmes,
Low Soules can meditate; use not that pen,
that could affright the world, 'gainst such poore Men.
Hee is more foole, then Tyrant, that would kill,
His Enemie at once: too great an Ill
it is to them, they cannot hurt thee: bee
then wise to them as they are fooles to Thee.
For if those men that built th'Ephesian Pile,
did feed the toil'd out Asses all the while,
on publique charge, whose younger strength did bring,
Materialls to that Structure (as a thinge
As great in Charity, for them to yeild
food to those beasts, as Piety to builde
Their Goddesse such a Temple) shal't be thought
that the ridiculous Asses, which once brought
Thee such Materials, as have made thy Stage,
to be the Greatest wonder of our Age,
should not at last (tyr'd-out in Follies) gett,
Licence to banquet, their Decrepit Witt,
on Offall Poets? on the Comon Store,
and Scraps of witt? Nay greive there are no more,
to please their Tasts, for when Fooles plentie bee,
Wise men are Miracles. When Rome did see,
at Cæsar's Triumph, all the figures there,
of rich Materials, Gold and Silver were:
And in the Triumph, next to his, not one,
but carv'd in Wood, in Ivory, or Stone;
They did conceive, the Last which they had seen,
serv'd as a case to keepe great Cæsars in:
Soe after thy rare peeces, when wee heare
such blockish Poems, doe they not appeare
like dark-foiles, closely sett? which cannot shine,
Yet give what in themselves they want, to thine,
Lustre and life; as they were only showne,
to lock thy Memory up in, not their owne;
and that soe safelie too; that Fate from Thee
Cannot take life; it may Mortalitie:
Other Oblivion, then, thou ne're shalt find,
then that, which, with Thee, must put out Mankind.

(fols. 186r-7v)