Come, let my carper to his life now look,

 And find there darker lines than in my book

 He findeth any; yea, and let him know,

 That in his best things there are worse lines too.

May we but stand before impartial men,

 To his poor one I dare adventure ten,

 That they will take my meaning in these lines

 Far better than his lies in silver shrines.

 Come, truth, although in swaddling clouts, I find,

 Informs the judgement, rectifies the mind;

 Pleases the understanding, makes the will

 Submit; the memory too it doth fill

 With what doth our imaginations please;

 Likewise it tends our troubles to appease.

Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use,

 And old wives' fables he is to refuse;

 But yet grave Paul him nowhere did forbid

 The use of parables; in which lay hid

 That gold, those pearls, and precious stones that were

 Worth digging for, and that with greatest care.

Let me add one word more. O man of God,

 Art thou offended? Dost thou wish I had

 Put forth my matter in another dress?

 Or, that I had in things been more express?

 Three things let me propound; then I submit

 To those that are my betters, as is fit.