Author ad Librum
Old wiues and fooles haue faith, the Cricquets song
In the warm'd chimney portends death ere long
My creede holds no such thing. If Cricquets sing,
I rather doubt the'oreheated brickes may bring
Some danger to my house when these I heare,
(If any thing) I onely fire do feare:
But many things (poore Booke) I iustly feare,
When Critiques descants on thy lines I heare.
Libri ad Authorem responsio.
Feare no true Critique; all that know you, know
What loue and honor to such men you owe:
And men of that high name, will neuer throw
Their censures on an argument so low.
These I not feare; but I do doubt them though,
Who would from fooles Censorious Critiques grow.
T. N.
