(Poets I speake to) When I see't, I'll say,
My eye-sight betters, as my yeares decay,
85Meane time a quarrell I shall ever have
Against these doughty keepers from the grave,
Who use, it seemes their old Authoritie,
When (Verses men immortall make) they cry:
Which had it been a Recipe true tri'd,
90Probatum esset, Donne had never dy'd.
For mee, if e'r I had least sparke at all