You That Do Search For Euery Purling Spring Which From The Ribs Of Old Parnassus Flowes, And Euery Flower, Not Sweet Perhaps, Which Growes Neere Thereabouts, Into Your Poesie Wring; Ye That Do Dictionaries Methode Bring Into Your Rimes, Running In Rattling Rowes; You That Poore Petrarchs Long Deceased Woes With New-Borne Sighes And Denisen'D Wit Do Sing; You Take Wrong Wayes; Those Far-Fet Helps Be Such As Do Bewray A Want Of Inward Tuch, And Sure, At Length Stol'N Goods Doe Come To Light: But If, Both For Your Loue And Skill, Your Name You Seek To Nurse At Fullest Breasts Of Fame, Stella Behold, And Then Begin To Indite.