I beseech you
tell me your fancie, without parcialitie.
See yee the blindefolded pretie god, that feathered archer,
Of louers miseries which maketh his bloodie game?
Wote ye why his moother with a veale hath coouered his face?
Trust me, least he my looue happely chaunce to beholde.
Seeme they comparable to those two which I translated you _ex tempore_
in bed, the last time we lay togither in Westminster?
That which I eate, did I ioy, and that which I greedily gorged;
As for those many goodly matters leaft I for others.
I would hartily wish you would either send me the rules and precepts of
arte which you obscrue in quantities, or else followe mine, that M.
Philip Sidney gave me, being the very same which M. Drant deuised, but
enlarged with M. Sidneys own iudgement, and augmented with my
obseruations, that we might both accorde and agree in one; leaste we
ouerthrowe one an other, and be ouerthrown of the rest. Truste me, you
will hardly beleeue what greate good liking and estimation Maister Dyer
had of your _Satyricall Verses_, and I, since the viewe thereof, hauing
before of my selfe had speciall liking of Englishe versifying, am euen
nowe aboute to giue you some token what and howe well therein I am able
to doe: for, to tell you trueth, I minde shortely, at conuenient
leysure, to sette forth a booke in this kinde, whyche I entitle,
_Epithalamion Thamesis_, whyche booke I dare vndertake wil be very
profitable for the knowledge, and rare for the inuention and manner of
handling.
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