Yet must I not give nature all; thy Art,
My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part;
For though the poets matter Nature be,
His art doth give the fashion; and that he
Who casts to write a living line must sweat
(Such as thine are), and strike the second heat
Upon the muse's anvil; turn the same
And himself with it, that he thinks to frame,
Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn,
For a good poet's made, as well as born;