To whom, because from you all virtues flow,
And 'tis not none to dare contemplate you,
I, which do so,* as your true subject owe
Some tribute for that; so these lines are due.

If you can think these flatteries, they are;
For then your judgment is below my praise;
If they were so, oft flatteries work as far

As counsels, and as far the endeavour raise.

So my ill, reaching you, might there grow good,
But I remain a poisoned fountain still;
But not your beauty, virtue, knowledge, blood
Are more above all flattery than my will.

And if I flatter any, 'tis not you,

But my own judgment, who did long ago Pronounce that all these praises should be true, And virtue should your beauty and birth outgrow.

Now that my prophecies are all fulfilled,

Rather than God should not be honoured too, And all these gifts confessed, which he instilled, Yourself were bound to say that which I do.

So I but your recorder am in this,

Or mouth, and speaker of the universe,

A ministerial notary; for 'tis

Not I, but you and fame, that make this verse,

I was your prophet in your younger days,
And now your chaplain, God in you to praise.

TO MR. I. W.

ALL hail, sweet Poet, more full of more strong fire,

Than hath or shall enkindle any spirit!*

I loved what nature gave thee; but thy merit Of wit and art I love not, but admire; Who have before or shall write after thee, Their works, though toughly laboured, will be Like infancy or age to man's firm stay, Or early and late twilights to mid-day.

Men say, and truly, that they better be,
Which be envied than pitied; therefore I,
Because I wish thee best, do thee envy:
O would'st thou by like reason pity me,
But care not for me, I, that ever was
In Nature's and in Fortune's gifts, alas!
(Before by thy grace got in the Muse's school
A monster and a beggar, am a fool.

* Var.

.... and full of more strong fire

Than hath or shall enkindle my dull spirit. Ed. 1635.

Oh how I grieve, that late-born modesty
Hath got such root in easy waxen hearts,
That men may not themselves their own good

parts

Extol, without suspect of surquedry;

For, but thyself, no subject can be found
Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound

Thy worth but thine: how good it were to see
A poem in thy praise, and writ by thee!

Now if this song be too harsh for rhyme, yet as
The painter's bad god made a good devil,
"Twill be good prose, although the verse be evil.
If thou forget the rhyme, as thou dost pass,
Then write, that I may follow, and so be
Thy echo, thy debtor, thy foil, thy zany.

I shall be thought (if mine like thine I shape)
All the world's lion, though I be thy ape.

TO MR. T. W.

HASTE thee, harsh verse, as fast as thy lame

measure

Will give thee leave, to him; my pain and plea

sure

I've given thee, (and yet thou art too weak,) Feet and a reasoning soul, and tongue to speak.

34

Tell him all questions, with men have defended
Both of the pace so as hell are ended;
And 'as dremel, els but privation
Of the 1sts evi's habitation:
Ands Thes 16. ▼ bere in every street
Infernors trick memake and meet.

Love is sent;

You are my pevas, to use my Testament.

TO MR T. W.

PREGNANT agan, with the old twins, Hope and

Fear.

Of have I aske for they, both how and where
Thor wert, and what my hopes of letters were

A- in our streets sly beggars narrowly
Water: motions of the giver's hand or eye,
And evermore conceive some hope thereby.

And now thy alms is given, thy letter's read
The body risen again, the which was dead
And thy poor starveling bountifully fed.

fter this banquet my soul doth say grace.
"aise thee for 't, and zealously embratt

Thy love; though I think thy love in this case To be as gluttons', which say 'midst their meat, They love that best, of which they most do eat.

INCERTO.

AT once from hence my lines and I depart,
I to my soft still walks, they to my heart;
I to the nurse, they to the child of art.

Yet as a firm house, though the carpenter
Perish, doth stand; as an ambassador
Lies safe, howe'er his king be in danger,

So, though I languish, pressed with melancholy,
My verse, the strict map of my misery,
Shall live to see that, for whose want I die.

Therefore I envy them, and do repent,

That from unhappy me things happy are sent ;
Yet as a picture, or bare sacrament,

Accept these lines, and if in them there be
Merit of love, bestow that love on me.