An Epigramme called the Cambrian Alchymist

The Planet-stroken Albumazar,
Shaues the Muses like a razor;
Fayry-like we therefore shun them,
Cause there is no haire vpon them,
Muses loose their ornament,
Cambria has their excrement.

Excrement? it's true indeede,
Haire growes from th'excesse of seede,
Which by instance small doth varie
From th'peere-lesse Seminarie;
Which to make her worth allow'd,
Shrowdes her proiect in a clowde.

In a Clowde? its raher showne,
like the man that's in the Moone,
Where our Iles Ardelio,
Descants of Tom Trinkillo;
Form'd like one that's all in mist,
Like a second Alchymist.

Strange the Proiect was I wish
Of this Metamorphosis;
Nought was (if I vnderstood)
Good, but that it was deem'd good
By the great: ô worthy feate,
To be worthlesse deemed great.