The Writer to his Booke

Whether thus hasts my little booke so fast?
To Paules Churchyard; what in those cels to stand,
With one leafe like a riders cloke put vp
To catch a termer? or lye mustie there
With rimes a terme set out, or two before?
Some will redeeme me; fewe; yes, read me too;
Fewer; naye loue me; now thou dot'st I see;
Will not our English Athens arte defend?
Perhaps; will lofty courtly wits not ayme
Still at perfection? If I graunt? I flye;
Whether? to Pawles; Alas poore booke I rue
Thy rash selfe-loue, goe spread thy pap'ry wings,
Thy lightnes can not helpe, or hurt my fame.
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