ABSTRACT
One higher-pitched doth set his soaring thought On crownèd kings that Fortune hath low brought; Or some uprearèd, high-aspiring swain, As it might be the Turkish Tamerlain.1 Then weeneth2 he his base drink-drownèd spright,3 Rapt to the threefold loft of heaven’s height, When he conceives upon his feignèd stage The stalking steps of his great personage, Graced with huf-cap4 terms and thundering threats That his poor hearers’ hair quite upright sets. Such soon, as some brave-minded hungry youth, Sees fitly frame to his wide-strainèd mouth, He vaunts his voice upon an hirèd stage, With high-set steps, and princely carriage; Now swooping5 inside robes of royalty, That erst did scrub in lousy brokery.6 There, if he can with terms Italianate, Big-sounding sentences7 and words of state, Fair patch me up8 his pure iambic verse, He ravishes the gazing scaffolders.9
