The hovse of correction or, certayne satyricall epigrams. Written by I. H. Gent. [i.e. John Heath]. Together with a few Characters, called Par Pari: or, like to like, quoth the Deuill to the Collier |
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The Authour to his Booke.
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 | The hovse of correction |  |
The Authour to his Booke.
Come hither Booke, take counsell. He that goesInto the world, meetes with a world of foes.
Thy Mother was my Muse, a gentle Dame,
Who much ador'd Appollo's sacred name:
Then being free-borne, know that thou art going
Unto a world of Wits; still fresh, still growing:
Yet wonder not, that I haue got no friend
To write in thy behalfe! What! should I send
Thee, like a Seruingman, with Letters? No.
The World shall see thee first; and seeing, know
Whether thou merit'st prayse: none shall haue cause
To be condem'd of folly in the applause.
Of thy harsh lines, the worst that can be thought
Is this, That none would write, they were so naught.
Alas, poore Booke, hunt not thou after prayse,
Nor dare to stretch thy hand vnto the Bayes
Vpon a Poets head: let it suffice
To thee and me, the world doth vs despise.
For 'tis a mad World, and it turnes on hinges,
Whilst some a birding goe, and set their springes
Like Wasps and Mastiffs, and doe take delight
To quarrell with their shaddowes, nay, themselues,
And their owne broode. Sure these are spitefull elues.
Who at all Writers striue to haue a lerke:
Meddle not with them, lest thou get a yerke:
And yet their venamous breath (as on a Glasse)
No sooner lighteth, but away doth passe.
Then feare them not. The Wise, which know thee best,
Will entertayne thee, as a welcome Ghest;
Prayse that's prayse-worthy, winke at faults but small,
Like thy conceits, and prayse thy vayne withall.
Yet be not proude, though thou their prayse dost gayne,
Remembring what is writ is writ in vayne.
Tis for a better pen then mine to say
By God 'tis good, and if you lik't you may.
| The hovse of correction | |