Or thy first finder’s fame abate!
Lewd and without shame are they.
Them I despise who do after this rate;
And to the wise ’tis grief to hear this say:
Through folly falls poesy to decay.
“Poesy hath praise”: an ancient saying;
But weighing it, its mettle is but base:
Put case, a poet true art essaying
The braying of the unlettered race
Will chase him straightway forth from place,