¶ A short Answer to the book called: Beware the Cat,  
To the ientil reder: harti salutations,  
Desiring thee to know: Baldewins strange faschions  
And if in aunsering: I appear sum what quick,  
Think it not with out cause. his taunts be rive & thick  
Where as there is a book, called: beware the cat,  
The veri truth is so, that Stremer made not that,  
Nor no such false fabels: fell ever from his pen,  
Nor from his heart or mouth: as know many honest men  
But will ye gladli know, who made that book in deed,  
One William Baldewine. God grant him well to speed  
God grant him many new years, prosperity and health  
As he hath in this thing: farderd the Common wealth  
With large leisure, brown studi: he musing all alone  
Devised by what means: he might win the whetstone  
Every thing almost: in that book is as true,  
As that at Midsummer: in London it doth snu.  
Every thing almost: in that book is as true,  
As that his nose to my dock: is joined fast with glu,  
Put up your pipes Baldewine: if you can make no better,  
Many talk more wittili: that know not one letter,  
Put on your cap Baldewine: & keep your brain pan warm  
Lest ye go to Bedlam: if such toys in you swarm  
Reed this little short Rhyme: Baldewinken, till more cum:  
And with Streamers excrements: be bold to 'noint your gum  
In stead of Diaglum, in stead of Coloquintida,  
In stead of ru barbarum, or casia fistula.  
If the maker hereof: had been at more leisure.  
You had had from his hand: a more precious treasure  
But in the mean season: content yourself with this,  
For your Bagagical book, a warm a. r. s. you may kiss.  
O r else a pair of stocks: if officers do well,  
You hurt a harmless man: which no such tales did tell,  
As ye were disposed: loud lies on him to make,  
Which many wittis things: writes for his countries sake.  
Alas I would to God: your book were half so good,  
I wish you no more harm: nor to your sweet heart blood  
The pith of this paper, (if any man in it look)  
Is to deni utterli, that Stremer made that book  
The book (of ten leaves) was printed every word  
Er Stremer saw any piece, to wipe a way a t. o. r. d.  
Tergendis natibus, some thought his book was good  
Or to cari spiceti, to cherische a sick man's blood.  
Therefore gentle reder: beware what credence thou ghive  
The truth here contained: thou mayst boldly believe  
Baldwins toys do belong: to thee or any other  
As well as they do touch Stremer, his poor brother.  
And now judge good hirers: whether he be a good man  
Of whom I writ these things: as truli as I can.  
If that be not a great fault, so to hurt a man's name,  
Without sufficient cause: what crime should a man blame?  
Omnia si perdas: famam servare memento: Qua semel amissa postea nullus eris,  
If thou lose all (saith he) yet reserve honest fame  
If that be once clean gone: go home and suck thy dame.  
I am loath for to rail, as Baldwin hath begun  
For so between us both: a fair thread should be spun  
This much I have written: that the truth should be known  
And that the falsite: should quite be overthrow wen.  
Finis.