The Author in his owne defence

There is a crew of euer carping spirits,
Who merrit nothing good, yet hate good merits:
wrings his Iawes awry, and then cries mew,
And that I stole my lines plainely shew.
Thou addle headed Asse, thy braines are muddy,
Thy witles wit, vncapable of studdy,
Deemst each inuention barren like to thine,
And what thou canst not mend thou wilt repine.
Loe thus to wauering Censures torturing Racke,
With truth and confidence my Muse doth packe.
Let Zoylus and let Momus doe their worst,
Let Enuy and Detraction swell and burst:
In spight of spight, and disdaine,
In of any carping Critticks braine,
Like to a Poast Ile runne through thicke and thin,
To scourge iniquity and spurreg all sin.
You worthy fauorites of wisdomes lore,
Onely your fouors doth my Muse implore:
If your good stomackes these harsh lines disgest,
I careles bid a rush for all the rest.
My lines first parents (be they good or ill)
Was my vnlearned braine, and barren quill.