Robert Aylett

James Howell, in Aylett, Divine and moral Speculations (1654).

This work of yours, this Mirrour of your minde
Is a clear proof hereof, wherein I finde
Your Autumne, Spring, and Summer still the same,
Your Evening, Morn and Noon have the like flame
Of Apollinean fire in such degree
May melt the Readers into Poesie.
Your Fancie with the leaf doth neither fall,
Nor fade, but still is sappy, streight and tall.
Here are no whimsies, or strong lines that swell,
And more of garlick then the lamp do smell;
Such as those rambling Rimers use to vent,
Who raise their Muse on Stilts, and not content
To tread on earth do mount so high a stair,
That their conceits prove non-sense, froth and air,
Here's no such stuffe, but substance and pure sense;
Sound Rules and Precepts may be cull'd out hence.
Your Quadrants symphonize with Pybrachs strains,
As if his soul were transient in your brains:
Your smooth just cadencies, and gentle verse,
Suit with the pious matter you rehearse,
As all will judge who have their brains well knit,
And do not love extravagance of wit.
If such your Readers be, you need not flie
From any sentence to the Chancery.