For shame write better @3Labeo,@1 or write none, Or better write, or @3Labeo@1 write alone. Nay, call the @3Cynick@1 but a wittie foole, Thence to abiure his handsome drinking bole: Because the thirstie swaine with hollow hand, Conueyd the streame to weet his drie weasand. @3Write they that can, tho they that cannot doe: But who knowes that, but they that doe not know?@1 Lo what it is that makes white rags so deare, That men must giue a teston for a queare. Lo what it is that makes goose-wings so scant, That the distressed Semster did them want. So, lauish ope-tide causeth fasting lents, And staru'ling @3Famine@1 comes of large expence. Might not (so they were pleasd that beene aboue) Long @3Paper-abstinence@1 our dearth remoue? Then many a @3Loller@1 would in forfaitment, Beare @3Paper-fagots@1 ore the Pauement, But now men wager who shall blot the most, And each man writes: @3Ther's so much labour lost. That's good, that's great: Nay much is seldome well, Of what is bad, a littl's a great deale. Better is more: but best is nought at all. Lesse is the next, and lesser criminall. Little and good, is greatest good saue one, Then@1 Labeo, @3or write little, or write none.@1 Tush in small paines can be but little art, Or lode full drie-fats fro the forren mart: With @3Folio-volumes,@1 two to an Oxe hide, Or else ye @3Pamphleter@1 go stand a side, Read in each schoole, in euery margent coted, In euery Catalogue for an autour noted. Ther's happinesse well giuen, and well got, Lesse gifts, and lesser gaines I weigh them not. So may the Giant rome and write on high, Be he a Dwarfe that writes not there as I, But well fare @3Strabo,@1 which as stories tell. Contriu'd all @3Troy@1 within one Walnut shell. His curious Ghost now lately hither came, Arriuing neere the mouth of luckie Tame. I saw a @3Pismire@1 strugling with the lode, Dragging all @3Troy@1 home towards her abode. Now dare we hither, if he durst appeare, The subtile @3Stithy-man@1 that liu'd while eare: Such one was once, or once I was mistaught, A Smith at @3Vulcan@1 his owne forge vp brought, That made an Iron-chariot so light, The coach-horse was a Flea in trappings dight, The tame-lesse steed could well his wagon wield, Through downes and dales of the vneuen field. Striue they, laugh we: mean while the Black-smiths toy Passes new @3Strabo,@1 and new @3Straboes Troy.@1 Little for great: and great for good all one: For shame or better write, or @3Labeo@1 write none. But who coniur'd this bawdie @3Poggies@1 ghost, From out the @3stewes@1 of his lewde home-bred coast: Or wicked @3Rablais@1 dronken reuellings, To grace the mis-rule of our Tauernings? Or who put @3Bayes@1 into blinde @3Cupids@1 fist, That he should crowne what Laureats him list? Whose wordes are those, to remedie the deed, That cause men stop their noses when they read? Both good things ill, and ill things well: all one? For shame write cleanly @3Labeo,@1 or write none. |