John Weever

T. B., "In commendation of the Worke and the Author" Weever, Epigrammes in the oldest Cut, and newest Fashion (1599) sig. A3-A3v.

Nor dost thou praise, a pockworne tawnie trull,
Nor dost thou carve a huelesse slubbred stone,
Nor dost thou fill thy page with great othes full,
Nor dost thou sonnet of King Solomon:
Nor dost thou like a love-sicke milke-sop gull,
Unto thy Mistris for a kisse make mone:
But salt with sugar, honnie mixt with gall,
Must needs be praisde, must needes be likt of al.

Now I am sure thou tendes to vertues lore,
Shewes reading, judgement, and invention,
Thus writ the Epigrammatists of yore,
And told the world her foule abusion:
Thus thou and thine shal ever envide be,
And like a Page will Envy tend on thee.

Why so? Alcyon maketh first her nest,
And then into the river lets it slide,
To see if 'twil keepe water from her brest;
So thou thy nest my friend in me hast tride:
I like it wel, it holdeth water out,
Feare fier, fier is the curious scout.