I deem your Love, and hold me to you bound.

Again,

Go say his Foe thy Shielde with his doth bear.

Afterwards,

More old than _Jove_, whom thou at first didst breed.

And,

And now the Prey of Fowls in Field he lies.

Nor must _Ben. Johnson_ be forgotten;

Thy Praise or Dispraise is to me alike;
One doth not stroke me, nor the other strike.

Again,

Curst be his Muse, that could lye dumb, or hid
To so true Worth, though thou thy self forbid.

In this Train of Voters for _Monosyllables_, the inimitable _Cowley_
marches next, whom we must not refuse to hear;

Yet I must on; what Sound is't strikes mine Ear?
Sure I Fames Trumpet hear.