There was a tobacco-man that wrapped Spanish tobacco in a paper of
verses which Benlowes had written against the Pope, which, by a natural
antipathy that his wit has to anything that's Catholic, spoiled the
tobacco, for it presently turned mundungus. This author will take an
English word, and, like the Frenchman that swallowed water and spit it
out wine, with a little heaving and straining would turn it immediately
into Latin, as _plunderat ilie domos, mille hocopokiana_, and a
thousand such.
There was a young practitioner in poetry that found there was no good to
be done without a mistress; for he that writes of love before he hath
tried it doth but travel by the map, and he that makes love without a
dame does like a gamester that plays for nothing. He thought it
convenient, therefore, first to furnish himself with a name for his
mistress beforehand, that he might not be to seek when his merit or good
fortune should bestow her upon him; for every poet is his mistress's
godfather, and gives her a new name, like a nun that takes orders. He
was very curious to fit himself with a handsome word of a tunable sound,
but could light upon none that some poet or other had not made use of
before. He was therefore forced to fall to coining, and was several
months before he could light on one that pleased him perfectly. But
after he had overcome that difficulty he found a greater remaining, to
get a lady to own him. He accosted some of all sorts, and gave them to
understand, both in prose and verse, how incomparably happy it was in
his power to make his mistress, but could never convert any of them.
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