Classic Poem

Your verses were commended, as 'tis true,
That they were very good; I mean to you:
For they returned you, Ben, I have been told,
The seld seen sum of forty pound in gold.
These verses then, being rightly understood,
His lordship, not Ben Jonson, made them good.

To My Detractor
My verses were commended, thou didst say,
And they were very good, yet thou think'st nay.
For thou objectest, as thou hast been told,
The envied return of forty pound in gold.
Fool, do not rate my rhymes; I have found thy vice
Is to make cheap the lord, the lines, the price:
But bark thou on; I pity thee, poor cur,
That thou shouldst lose thy noise, thy foam, thy stir,
To be known what thou art, a blatant beast;
By writing against me, thou look'st at least,
I now would write on thee: no, wretch, thy name
Shall not work out unto it, such a fame:
No man will tarry by thee, as he goes,
To ask thy name, if he have half his nose;
But fly thee like the pest! Walk not the street
Out in the dog days, lest the killer meet
Thy noddle with his club; and dashing forth
Thy dirty brains, men smell thy want of worth.