 | Pandora
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Epode.
No, no, the high singer is hee
Alone: that in the ende must bee
Made proude, with a garland lyke this,
And not eu'rie ryming nouice,
That writes with small wit, and much paine:
And the (Gods knowe) idiot in vaine,
For it's not the way to Parnasse,
Nor it wyll neither come to passe,
If it be not in some wise fiction,
And of an ingenious inuension:
And infanted with pleasant trauaill,
For it alone must win the Laurell.
And onelie the Poet well borne,
Must be he that goes to Parnassus:
And not these companies of Asses,
That haue brought verce almost to scorne.
| Pandora
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