Censure not sharply then, but me advise Before I write more verse, to be more wise. So ended your epistle, mine begins, He that so censureth, or adviseth sins, The empty carper, scorn, not credit wins. I have, with strict advantage of free time O'er-read, examined, tried, and proved your rhyme As clear, and distant, as yourself from crime; And though your virtue (as becomes it) still Deigns mine the power to find, yet want I will Or malice to make faults, which now is skill. Little know they that profess amity And seek to scant her comely liberty, How much they lame her, in her property: And less they know, that being free to use That friendship, which no chance, but love did choose, Will unto licence, that free leave abuse: It is an act of tyranny, not love, In course of friendship, wholly to reprove: And flattery, with friends' humours still to move. From each of which, I labour to be free, Yet, if with either's vice, I tainted be, Forgive it as my frailty, and not me. For no man lives, so out of passion's sway, But sometimes shall be tempted to obey Her fury, though no friendship he betray. |