To the ingenious Doctor, M. Ioseph Hall.

E PIG . 218.

Thy Vowes hath made me vow to honor thee,
And heere they shall (in part) performèd bee.
Thy scourge of Vice, thy sinne-afflicting Muse,
Erst plagu'd them throughly who the world abuse
And made them grone betweene thy Satyres' fangs,
As if (for sinne) of hell they felt the pangs.
For that and for the wit, the grace, the art.
Thou shew'st in all that from thy pen doth part,
My pen thus dimly trickes thee; wherein thou
May see thy substance shadow'd by a shew
That scarce is seene: the reason is, thine all
For my sleight lines is too substantiall.