To My Book

It will be looked for, book, when some but see  Thy title,

Epigrams, and named of me,

Thou should'st be bold, licentious, full of gall,  Wormwood and sulphur, sharp and toothed withal,

Become a petulant thing, hurl ink and wit  As madmen stones, not caring whom they hit.

Deceive their malice who could wish it so,  And by thy wiser temper let men

Thou art not covetous of least self-fame  Made from the hazard of another's shame—Much less with lewd, profane, and beastly phrase  To catch the world's loose laughter or vain gaze.

He that departs with his own honesty  For vulgar praise, doth it too dearly buy.

Contextual notes:

L4- 'wormwood' - bitter-tasting

L13 - 'departs' - parts