 | All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet
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An Epilogue.
I told thee I had worser rods in pisse,
Thou findst it true, and I haue worse then this,
Which on occasion I will freely vtter,
If thou but dare against me for to mutter:
In three daies thou didst write that book of thine
Thou saist, and I in fourteene houres did mine.
For I would haue thee well to vnderstand,
I businesse haue by water and by land,
My seruice and occasions me incites
To write by snatches, and by spurts a nights.
That if my businesse were but ouer-past,
The writing such another, I durst fast
From sleepe, or sustenance of meat or drinke,
And such a taske would famish thee I thinke.
I for a wager will be locked vp,
And no reliefe will either bite or sup,
Vntill as much as this my muse deuise,
And scarcely be an hungred when I rise.
Then for thine owne sake (Poet Pedler) cease,
Or bind my sharpe fang'd Muse vnto the peace:
For thou maist sweare, & keep thy conscience cleere
That of thy life thou liu'st in mighty feare.
Shee'l make thee desp'rate, thine owne breath bereaue,
By which, she Hangman thou wilt much deceiue,
Thus doe I leaue my lines to all mens view,
To iudge if I haue paid thee not thy due.
To write of thee againe, my Muse hath ceast,
Sufficient is enough, enough's a feast.
I know thy lying Chaps are stopt for euer,
That all thy study and thy best endeuour,
Nor fifty more such shallow brains as thine,
Can answere this one little booke of mine.
But if thou dost, I know 'twill be so lame,
A wise man will not reade it o'r for shame,
And therefore Fennor gnaw vpon this bone,
What next I write, shall better be or none.
| All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet
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