Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize,
Do public good cut in anatomies;
So will thy book in pieces for a lord
Which casts at Portescue's, and all the board.
Provide whole books; each leaf enough will be
For friends to pass time and keep company.
Can all carouse up thee? no, thou must fit
Measures, and fill out for the half-pint wit.
Some shall wrap pills, and save a friend's life so;
Some shall stop muskets, and so kill a foe.,'
Thou shalt not ease the critics of next age
So much, as once their hunger to assuage;
Nor shall wit-pirates hope to find thee lye
All in one bottom in one library.
Some leaves may paste strings there in other books,
And so one may, which on another looks,
Pilfer, alas! a little wit from you,
But hardly much; and yet I think this true.
As Sybil's was, your book is mystical,
For every piece is as much worth as all:
Therefore mine impotency I confess,
The healths which my brain bears must be far less:
The giant-wit o'erthrows me; I am gone;
And rather than read all I would read none.