Epigram to my Bookseller

Thou, friend, wilt hear all censures; unto thee
All mouths are open, and all stomachs free:
Be thou my book's intelligencer, note
What each man says of it, and of what coat
His judgment is; if he be wise, and praise,
Thank him; if other, he can give no bays.
If his wit reach no higher, but to spring
Thy wife a fit of laughter; a cramp-ring
Will be reward enough; to wear like those,
That hang their richest jewels in their nose:
Like a rung bear or swine; grunting out wit
As if that part lay for a most fit!
If they go on, and that thou lov'st a-life
Their perfumed judgments, let them kiss thy wife.