Pardon mine eares, both I and they doe pray,
So may your tongue full flauntingly proceede,
To them that doe such entertainments neede;
So may you still have somewhat new to say.
On sillie me, doe not you burthen lay
Of all the grave conceipts your braine doth breede,
But find some Hercules, to beard (in steede
Of Atlas tyrde) your wisedomes heavenly sway.
For me while you discourse of courtly tydes,
Of cunningst Fishers in most troubled streames,
Of straying waves when valiant errour guides:
Meane while my hart confers with Stellas beames,
And is even woe that so sweet Comedie,
By such unfuted speech, should hindered be.