Fresh bosses, crimson ribbands, sheets with leadRuled, and with pumice-powder all well polished.These as thou readest, seem that fine, urbaneSuffenus, goat-herd mere, or ditcher-swainOnce more, such horrid change is there, so vile.What must we wot thereof? a Droll erst while,Or (if aught) cleverer, he with converse meets,He now in dullness, dullest villain beatsForthright on handling verse, nor is the wight Ever so happy as when verse he write:So self admires he with so full delight.In sooth, we all thus err, nor man there beBut in some matter a Suffenus seeThou canst: his lache allotted none shall lack Yet spy we nothing of our back-borne pack.
TO FURIUS SATIRICALLY PRAISING HIS POVERTYFurius ! Nor chest, nor slaves can claim,Bug, Spider, nor e'e n hearth aflame,Yet thine a sire and step-dame whoWi' tooth can ever flint-food chew!So thou, and pleasant happy life