Sonnet 11: A Book was writ of late call’d Tetrachordon

On The Detraction Which Followed My Writing Certain Treatises

A Book was writ of late call’d Tetrachordon;
   And wov’n close, both matter, form and stile;
   The Subject new: it walk’d the Town a while,
   Numbring good intellects; now seldom por’d on.
Cries the stall-reader, bless us! what a word on
   A title page is this! and some in file
   Stand spelling fals, while one might walk to Mile—
   End Green.  Why is it harder Sirs then Gordon,
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?
   Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek
   That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,
   Hated not Learning wors then Toad or Asp;
   When thou taught’st Cambridge, and King Edward Greek.