University of Virginia Library

To the Authour, W. B.

Rivers be silent, peace you muses nine,
Orpheus be dumbe, for now no praise is thine;
Bend all your eares unto Britannia's peere,
Ever be praising, nere to praise him feare;
Right as the painters garnish with theire sable
Their brighter colours in a curious table.
Time so will place thee in the shield of fame,
As chiefe of men t'immortalize thy name;
Yet why should I with rude rimes seeke to raise thee,
Let every sonnet in thy pastorals praise thee;
O dasht Apollo, hide thy face for shame,
Render to shepheards henceforth all the fame.
E. Coll. Exon.