Fearing, for all thy wit, to be rebuff'd,
Or bullied by our great reviewing Gogs?
XV.
What in this masquing age
Maketh Unknowns so many and so shy?
What but the critic's page?
One hath a cast, he hides from the world's eye;
Another hath a wen,—he won't show where;
A third has sandy hair,
A hunch upon his back, or legs awry,