Of Lynus Poetrie

WHen Lynus thinkes that he and I are friends,
Then all his Poems vnto me he sends:
His Disticks, Satyrs, Sonnets, and Exameters,
His Epigrams, his Lyricks, his Pentameters.
Then I must censure them, I must correct them,
Then onely I must order, and direct them.
I read some three or foure, and passe the rest,
And when for answere, I by him am prest,
I say, that all of them, some praise deserue,
For certaine vses I could make them serue.
But yet his rime is harsh, vneu'n his number,
The manner much, the matter both doth cumber.
His words too strange, his meanings are too mistic
But at one word, I best indure his Disticke:
And yet, might I perswade him in mine humor,
Not to affect vaine praise of common rumor,
Then should he write of nothing: for indeede,
Gladly of nothing I his verse would reade.