Book I, Satire 6

ANother scorns the home-spun thred of rimes,
Match'd with the loftie feete of elder times:
Giue me the numbred verse that Virgill sung,
And Virgill selfe shall speake the English toung:
Manhood and garboiles shall he chaunt with chaunged feete

And head-strong Dactils making Musicke meete.
The nimble Dactils striuing to out-go
The drawling Spondees pacing it below.
The lingring Spondees, labouring to delay,
The breath-lesse Dactils with a sodaine stay.
Who euer saw a Colte wanton and wilde,
Yoakt with a slow-foote Oxe on fallow field?
Can right areed how handsomely besets
Dull Spondees with the English Dactilets?
If Ioue speake English in a thundring cloud,
Thwick thwack, and Riffe raffe, rores he out aloud.
Fie on the forged mint that did create
New coyne of words neuer articulate.