My favorite part of Rosalynde by Thomas Lodge is part of the prefatory letter to gentleman readers. Lodge is talking about what he will do if certain foolish readers attempt to criticize his book:
Dude. That just rules.
But if Momus or any squint-eyed ass that hath mighty ears to conceive with Midas, and yet little reason to judge, if he come aboard our bark to find fault with the tackling when he knows not the shrouds, I'll down into the hold and fetch out a rusty poleax that saw no sun this seven year, and either well bebast him or heave the coxcomb overboard to feed cods.
Dude. That just rules.
Labels: books, death/mourning/corpses, early modern
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