Ile hear no Truce, Wrong gets no Grave in me:
Abuse pell-mell encounter with abuse;
Write he again, Ile write eternally;
Who feeds Revenge, hath found an endless Muse.
If Death ere made his black Dart of a Pen,
My Pen his special Bayly shall become:
Somewhat Ile be reputed of 'mongst men,
By striking of this Dunce or dead or dumb:
Await the World the Tragedy of Wrath,
What next I paint shall tread no common Path.