University of Virginia Library

[8] To Sir ROGER TOWNSEND.

I Sent my Muse unto the house of fame,
Of her to enquire out some Honourd name
Worthy of my Verse, and shee commends to mee
A Townsend; then I quickly thought of thee;
Then whom, a wiser head, Sol doth not see;
Thy actions with such judgement seasond bee.
Thou from thy fortunes height dainst to looke on
Lowly Parnassus, and poore Helicon;
On humble Helicon, whose withered bayes,
Witnesse the Frostie dulnesse of these dayes.
When merits starve, because they scorne to bee
Base fortunes slaves, and fooles are raisd (we see)
And Knaves, for now great men make greatest use
Of these to hide, or perpetrate abuse.
We Arts unhappie servants must be glad
To fall before an Asse, in Scarlet clad,
And or like Egypts foolish Priests adore
Monsters, in shapes of men, o'r still be poore.
We sorted are with the Plebeian rout,
And live as men borne onely to weare out
Serges, eat offalls, or to fetch our drinke
From the Spring head, or consume Lampes and inke;
When silly Silke-wormes strout in sundry shapes
Like Proteus, when Sycophants and Apes
Baboones, Buffones and sprucer trencher Squires,
Be neatly drest in Honors richest tires.
But you Sir Roger (on whose honord name,
More noble Vertues are scor'd up by fame,
Then Time hath lent you yeares) an Artist are
And Artist[s] love; then double be your share
In truest happinesse, and let your night
Day, morne, and even, on you shine ever bright,
And from your geniall bed let fruites appeare,
Worthy your worthy selfe, and your Bel-vere.