Thomas Nashdo. I, here is a fellow Iudicio that carried the deadly stocke in his pen, whose muse was armed with a gag tooth, and his pen possest with Hercules furyes.
Let all his faults sleepe with his mournefull chest,
And then for ever with his ashes rest,
His stile was witty, though he had some gall,
Something he might have mended, so may all.
Yet this I say, that for a mother wit,
Few men have ever seene the like of it.