The Hecatomb to his Mistress.
Be dumb, you beggars of the rhyming trade,
Geld your loose wits and let your Muse be spayed.
Charge not the parish with the bastard phrase
Of balm, elixir, both the Indias,
Of shrine, saint, sacrilege, and such as these
Expressions common as your mistresses.
Hence, you fantastic postillers in song.
My text defeats your art, ties Nature's tongue,