Resolve me friend (for it must folly be
Or else revenge 'gainst niggard Destinie,
That makes some Poets raile?) Why are their times
So steept in gall? Why so obrayde the times?
As if no sin call'd downe heav'ns vengeance more
Then cause the world leaves some few writers poore?
Tis true, that Chapmans reverend ashes must
Lye rudely mingled with the vulgar dust,
Cause carefull heyers the wealthy onely have;
To build a glorious trouble o're the grave.