To Itis, alias Ioyner, an vncleanly token, conuayd in cleanly tearmes

TOrquato Tasso, for one little fault,
That did perhaps deserue some small rebuke,
Was by his sharp and most vngratefull Duke,
Shut vp close prisoner in a loathsome vault;
Where wanting Pen and Inke by Princes order,
His wit, that wals of Adamant could pierce,
Found meanes to write his mind in excellent verse:
For want of Pen and Inke, with pisse and ordure.
But thy dull wit damn'd by Apollos crew,
To dungeon of disgrace, though free thy body,
With pen, nay Print, doth publish like a noddy.
Base taunts, that turn'd vpon thy selfe, are true,
And wanting salt thy wallowish stile to season,
And being of vncouth tearmes a senslesse coyner,
Thou call'st thy selfe vnproperly, a Ioyner,
Whose verse hath quite disseuer'd rime and reason:
Deseruing for such rayling, and such bodging,
For this, Torquatos Inke, for that, his Lodging.