TO TOM CORIET

What matters for the place I first came from,
I am no Duncecomb, Coxecombe, Odcombe Tom
Nor am I like a Wooll-packe, cramd with Greeke,
Venus in Venice minded to goe seeke:
And at my backe returne to write a volume,
In memory of my wits Gargantua Colume.
wits would so adore me,
Nor like so many runne before me:
But honest Tom, I enuy not thy state,
Theres nothing in thee worthy of my hate:
Yet I confesse thou hast an exeellent wit:
But that an idle braine doth harbor it.
Foole thou it at the Court, I on the Thames,
So farwell Odcomb Tom, God blesse King Iames.