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YES, every poet is a fool,

By demonstration Ned can show it.

Happy, could Ned's inverted rule
Prove every fool to be a poet.


THY nags, the leaneft things alive!
So very hard thou lov'ft to drive;

I heard thy anxious coach-man say,
It coft thee more in whips, than hay.

To a Person who wrote Ill, and spoke Worfe against Me.

YE, Philo, untouch'd, on my peaceable shelf;

Nor take it amifs, that fo little I heed thee :

I've no envy to thee, and fome love to myself:

Then why fhould I anfwer; fince first I must read thee?

Drunk with Helicon's waters and double-brew'd bub,
Be a linguift, a poet, a critic, a wag;

To the folid delight of thy well-judging club,
To the damage alone of thy bookfeller Brag.


Purfue me with fatire: what harm is there in 't?
But from all viva voce reflection forbear:
There can be no danger from what thou fhalt print:
There may be a little from what thou may'st swear.

On the fame Perfon.

WHILE, fafter than his coftive brain indites,

Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes :

His cafe appears to me like honest Teague's,.
When he was run away with by his legs.
Phoebus, give Philo o'er himself command;
Quicken his fenfes, or restrain his hand;
Let him be kept from paper, pen, and ink:
So may he cease to write, and learn to think..

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May spoil what you to-night propose:

England may change; or Cloe ftray:

Love and life are for to-day.

Written three hundred years fince *.


BE it ryght, or wrong, these men among on women.

do complayne;

Affyrmynge this, how that it is a labour spent in vayne,

So Frior.


- First printed about 1521, fays Capel

To love them wele; for never a dele thy love a maa


For late a man do what he can, theyr favour to attayne, Yet, yf a newe do them pursue, theyr fyrst true lover


Laboureth for nought; for from her thought he is a banyshed man.


I say nat, nay, but that all day it is bothe writ and fayd, That womens fayth is, as who fayth, all utterly decayed:

But, nevertheleffe, ryght good wytnèffe in this cafe. might be layed,

That they love true, and continue; recorde the notbrowne mayde;

Which, when her love came, her to prove, to her to make his mone,

Wolde nat depart; for in her hart he loved but hym alone.


Than betwayne us late us dyfcus what was all the manère

Betwayne them two; we wyll alfo tell all the payne, and fere,

That she was in: nowe I begyn, fo that ye me an

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Wherfore, all ye, that prefent be, I pray you gyve an


I am the knyght; I come by nyght, as fecret as I can, Sayinge, Alas, thus ftandeth the cafe, I am a banyshed


B. And


And I your wyll for to fulfyll in this wyll nat refuse; Truftynge to fhewe in wordes fewe, that men have an yll use

(To theyr own fhame) women to blame, and caufeleffe them accufe:

Therfore to you I anfwere nowe, all women to ex

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Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere? I pray you, tell anone;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone.


It ftandeth fo; a dede is do, whereof grete harme shall


My destiny is for to dy a fhamefull deth, I trowe;

Or elles to fle: the one must be; none other way I knowe,

But to withdrawe as an outlawe, and take me to my


Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true! none other rede

I can;

For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyfhed



O Lorde, what is this worldys blyffe, that chaungeth as the mone!

The fomers day in lufty May is derked before the


I here you fay, farewell; Nay, nay, we départ not fo


Why fay ye fo? wheder wyll ye go? alas, what have ye done?



welfare to forowe and care fholde chaunge, yf ye were gone;

For, in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but yɔu alone.


I can beleve, it fhall you greve, and fomwhat you dystrayne:

But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde within a day or


Shall fone aflake; and ye shall take comfort to you


Why fholde ye ought? for, to make thought, your labour were in vayne..

And thus I do; and pray you to, as hartely as I can ; For I muft to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed



Now, fyth that ye have shewed to me the fecret of your


I fhall be playne to you agayne, lyke as ye fhall me fynde :

Syth it is fo that ye wyll go, I wolle not leve be


Shall it never be fayd, the notbrowne mayd was to her

love unkynde :


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