Thomas Dekker

“ In one of which, old Chaucer, reverend for prioritie, blythe in cheare, buxsome in his speeches, and benigne in his haviour, is circled a round with all the Makers or Poets of his time, their hands leaning on one anothers shoulders, and their eyes fixt seriously upon his, whilst their eares are all tied to his tongue, by the golden chaines of his Numbers; for here (like Evanders mother) they spake all in verse: no Attick eloquence is so sweete: their language is so pleasing to the goddes, that they utter their Oracles in none other. ”

“ Nay (sayes he) into so lowe a miserie (if not contempt,) is the sacred Arte of Poesie falne, that tho a wryter (who is worthy to sit at the table of the Sunne,) wast his braines, to earne applause from the more worthie Spirits, yet when he has done his best, hee workes but like Ocnus, that makes ropes in hell; for as hee twists, an Asse stands by and bites them in sunder, and that Asse is no other than the Audience with hard hands. ”