how far he is from such vaunted titles and glorious shews, both himself sheweth, where he saith:
“Of Muses, Hobbin, I conne no skill.”
And,
“Enough is me to paint out my unrest,” etc.
And also appeareth by the baseness of the name, wherein it seemeth he chose rather to unfold great matter of argument covertly than, professing it, not suffice thereto accordingly. Which moved him rather in Æglogues than otherwise to write, doubting perhaps his ability, which he little needed, or minding to furnish our tongue with this kind, wherein it faulteth; or following the example of the best and most ancient poets, which devised this kind of writing, being both so base for the matter, and homely for the manner, at the first to try their abilities; and as young birds, that be newly crept out of the nest, by little first prove their tender wings, before they make a greater flight. So flew Theocritus, as you may perceive he was already full fledged. So flew Virgil, as not yet well feeling his wings. So flew Mantuane, as not being full somm’d. So Petrarch. So Boccace. So Marot, Sanazarius, and also divers other excellent both Italian and French poets, whose footing this author every where followeth: yet so as few,
