Who either want the grace of wit, or have
Untoward arguments: like him that gave
Life to the flea, or who without a guest
Would prove that famine was the only feast;
Self tyrants, who their braines doubly torment,
Both for their matter and their ornament.
If these do stutter sometimes, and confesse
That they are tired, we could expect no lesse.
But when my matter is prepared and fit,
When nothing’s wanting but an equal wit,