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To Licus. 14.
Licus, thou often tell'st me iestingly,I am a fine man, and so tyrannously
Hast thou now tired that phrase, that euery one
Is a fine man in thine opinion:
In thine opinion? no it's but thy word,
Which doth that fine addition affoord:
And yet I see no cause but many may,
In dauncing, vaulting, and in riming too,
In theyr conceits there are as good as you.
Then wherein is't that you so farre surpasse
Other plaine iades, like Lucius golden Asse?
I heare thee say the foulest day that is,
Thou art shodde in Veluet, and in Naples bisse:
Nay then I yeeld, for who will striue in it,
May haue fine clothes, but a most filthy wit.
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