 | Small poems of Divers sorts |  |
79. To my honoured Friend Sir William Persal.
Sir, you are every where belov'd, and shouldI say admir'd, my words a truth woo'd hold.
You master all the Arts, and can discourse
Of any science from the very Source
To the full growth of it: From Pole to Pole
Nature hath made you Doctor of her whole.
What others have grown old about and gray,
You have acquir'd by a more gentile way:
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To you is but a soft Symposiack.
Your quick, all-apprehending brain is such,
It dictates wonders; which are prov'd as much.
Let not this (Sir) seem flattery, and offend:
I write but what I think; And so I end.
| Small poems of Divers sorts | |