Against filthy writing / and such like
delighting,
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WHat meane the rimes that run thus large in every shop to sell?
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With wanton sound, and filthie sense, me thinke it grees not well
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We are not Ethnickes we forsoth, at least professe not so
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Why range we then to Ethnickes trade? come bak, where wil ye go?
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Tel me is Christ, or Cupide Lord? doth God or Venus reigne?
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And whose are wee? whom ought wee serve? I aske it, answere plaine
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If wanton Venus, then go forth, if Cupide, keep your trade
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If God, or Christ, come bak the best, or sure you will be made
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Doth God? is he the Lord in deed? and should we him obey?
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Then his commaundement ought to guide, all that wee doo or say
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But shew me his commaundement then, thou filthy writer thou
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Let seet, I cease, if not, geve place, or shameles shew thee now.
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WE are no foes to musicke wee, a mis your man doth take us
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so frendes to thinges corrupt and vile, you all shall never make us
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If you denie them such to bee, I stand to prove it I,
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If you confesse (defend them not) why then doo you reply?
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But such they bee I will mainteine, which yet you bothe defend
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And judge them fooles, that them mislike, would God you might amend
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But, substance onely I regarde, let Accidencis go
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Both you and wee, bee that wee bee, I therfore leave it so
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And yet I wishe your tearmes in deed, upon some reason stayd
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If mine be not, reprove them right, Ile blot that I have sayd
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And that I wrote, or now doo wrighte, against you as may seeme
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What cause I had, and have, I yelde, to modest men to deeme
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I wishe you well I doo protest, (as God will, I will so)
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I cannot helpe, as frend ye wot, nor will not hurt as so
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But for the vile corrupting rimes, which you confesse to wrighte
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My soule and hart abhorres their sence, as far from my delight
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And those that use them for their glee, as you doo vaunte ye will
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I tell you plainly what I think, I judge them to bee ill
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This boasting late in part hath causd, mee now to say my minde
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Though chalenges of yours also, in every place I finde.
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