 | The philosophers satyrs |  |
To his ingenious friend. R. A.
Deesert and praise are Twins. The first being quicke,The second still is so; or if it die,
Then is the first too sound, or else too sicke,
And so may dye in grace, or Enuies eye.
But this with wonder in my stomacke stickes,
That Satyrs wrapt but in base Balladrie
Are praisd beyond the moone (of lunatickes)
As being sun-begot; so cannot die.
Needs must I hugge the Muse, and praise the pen
Of him, that makes his Satires dance a brall
Vnto the musicke of the spheares, euen then
When as the planets footed it withall:
Thou sharply singst, but he the burden beares,
That would haue songe more sharpe but for his eares.
I. D.
| The philosophers satyrs | |