But I, that
before ever I durst aspire unto the dignity am admitted into the company
of the paper-blurrers, do find the very true cause of our wanting
estimation, is want of desert: taking upon us to be poets, in despite
of Pallas. Now, wherein we want desert were a thank-worthy labour to
express: but if I knew, I should have mended myself. But I, as I never
desired the title, so have neglected the means to come by it. Only
overmastered by some thoughts, I yielded an inky tribute unto them.
Marry, they that delight in poesy itself should seek to know what they
do, and how they do; and especially, look themselves in an unflattering
glass of reason, if they be inclinable unto it. For poesy must not be
drawn by the ears, it must be gently led, or rather, it must lead.
Which was partly the cause, that made the ancient-learned affirm, it
was a divine gift, and no human skill: sith all other knowledges lie
ready for any that hath strength of wit: a poet no industry can make,
if his own genius be not carried unto it: and therefore is it an old
proverb, _orator fit; poeta nascitur_.
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