They have discovered a rare theft; the thief

They have discovered a rare theft; the thief, One Garcilasso's taken at his tricks, With three silk canopies and pillows six, Stolen from Queen Dido's bed; young Cupid's sheaf Of darts; the shuttle of the Fates; but chief, Three most somniferous kegs of Lethe wine, And his own lady's golden clasp, a sign Of turpitude that staggers all belief. For full seven years the sly Arcadian Has been at work; on shops of Tuscan ware, he Made some attempts too—Bembo's and Politian's: 'Tis pitiful to hear the' unhappy man, His feet fast in the stocks of Commentary, Declaim against these tell-tale rhetoricians.

On the back of this paper, Sanchez wrote a reply.

Poets are found whose fame we may immerse In Lethe's wave, who to make up some sonnet Stuff it with pillows till we slumber on it; And have recourse for rhymes for their lame verse, To the sad shuttle of the Fates, or worse, Young Cupid's darts; whose lines have no more sense Than their own lady's golden clasp: yet hence Will they denounce our comments for a curse On Garcilasso, without knowing why Barking like curs; amusing 'tis to see The sapient animals, with long sharp teeth And short dull wits, far falser than the sly Quick fidgetings of horses, to get free Of half the imposed light load they bend beneath.