Dare he to write of Kingdomes, that ne’er saw
His fathers Oxe, perhaps the plough to draw;
And scarce can tell even of the bread he eates
[III. 109.]How many frames it suffers, toyle, and sweats;
Nor ne’er ten miles, was travell’d from his cradle
Yet faine would sit, the steerd Pegasian sadle:
Whiles loytring in a Colledge, thus he dare
Sow lyes, reape shame, build Lottries in the ayre;
Goe doting Gull? Goe? blot away thy name?