In Cuddie is set out the perfect pattern of a Poet, which, finding no
maintenance of his state and studies, complaineth of the contempt of
Poetry, and the causes thereof: specially having been in all ages, and
even amongst the most barbarous, always of singular account and honour,
and being indeed so worthy and commendable an art; or rather no art, but
a divine gift and heavenly instinct not to be gotten by labour and
learning, but adorned with both; and poured into the wit by a certain
Enthousiasmos and celestial inspiration, as the Author hereof elsewhere
at large discourseth in his book called _The English Poet_, which book
being lately come to my hands, I mind also by God's grace, upon further
advisement, to publish.