 | Small poems of Divers sorts |  |
112. To Momus.
Momus doth grumble; Prethee spare me not:Th'excception's just thou hast against me got.
I writ Catullus, and the other two,
Were all of them Contemporaries, tis true:
Valerius ere they flourish'd dy'd, I know it;
Poets may feign, in that hold me a Poet:
With truth of History I was too bold,
As men tye knots on Ropes to make them hold.
| Small poems of Divers sorts | |