Shall condescend my muse to foster
With praise—not pay; for you and I know
Our patron’s not too full of rhino;
You for a paltry pimping payment,
That scarce will find you food and raiment,
Give up your talents, freedom, leisure,
To do the Royal folks a pleasure;
I, for we poets in all ages,
Have scorned to do our work for wages,
Waste pen, wit, rhyme, and why? the cause is