Little, buzzing, wanton elfe Perish there, and thanke thy selfe. Thou deseru'st thy life to loose, For distracting such a Muse. Was it thy ambitious aime By thy death to purchase fame? Didst thou hope he would in pitty Haue bestow'd a funerall ditty On thy ghoast? and thou in that To haue outliuèd Virgill's gnatt? No! The treason thou hast wrought Might forbid thee such a thought. If that Night's worke doe miscarry, Or a syllable but vary; A greater foe thou shalt me find, The destruction of thy kind. Phoebus, to revenge thy fault, In a fiery trapp thee caught; That thy wingèd mates might know it, And not dare disturbe a poet. Deare and wretched was thy sport, Since thyselfe was crushèd for't; Scarcely had that life a breath, Yet it found a double death; Playing in the golden flames, Thou fell'st into an inky Thames; Scorch'd and drown'd. That petty sunne A pretty Icarus hath vndone. FROM PETRONIUS.[91] _Ales Phasiacis petita Colchis, &c._ The bird that's fetch't from Phasis floud, Or choicest hennes of Africk-brood; These please our palates; and why these? 'Cause they can but seldome please. Whil'st the goose soe goodly white, And the drake, yeeld noe delight, Though his wings' conceited hewe Paint each feather, as if new. These for vulgar stomacks be, And rellish not of rarity. But the dainty Scarus, sought In farthest clime; what e're is bought With shipwrack's toile, oh, that is sweet, 'Cause the quicksands hansell'd it. The pretious barbill, now growne rife, Is cloying meat. How stale is wife? Deare wife hath ne're a handsome letter, Sweet mistris sounds a great deale better. Rose quakes at name of cinnamon. Unlesse't be rare, what's thought vpon? FROM HORACE. _Ille et ne fasto te posuit die, &c._