University of Virginia Library

An Epigram. To the honour'd --- Countesse of ---

The Wisdome Madam of your private Life,
Where with this while you live a widowed wife,
And the right wayes you take unto the right,
To conquer rumour, and triumph on spight;
Not only shunning by your act, to doe
Ought that is ill, but the suspition too,
Is of so brave example, as he were
No friend to vertue, could be silent here.
The rather when the vices of the Time
Are growne so fruitfull, and false pleasures climbe
By all oblique Degrees, that killing height
From whence they fall, cast downe with their owne weight.
And though all praise bring nothing to your name,
Who (herein studying conscience, and not fame)
Are in your selfe rewarded; yet't will be
A cheerefull worke to all good eyes, to see
Among the daily Ruines that fall foule,
Of State, of fame, of body, and of soule,
So great a Vertue stand upright to view,
As makes Penelopes old fable true,
Whilst your Ulisses hath ta'ne leave to goe,
Countries, and Climes manners, and men to know.
Only your time you better entertaine,
Then the great Homers wit, for her, could faine;
For you admit no companie, but good,
And when you want those friends, or neere in blood,
Or your Allies, you make your bookes your friends,
And studie them unto the noblest ends,
Searching for knowledge, and to keepe your mind
The same it was inspir'd, rich, and refin'd.
These Graces, when the rest of Ladyes view
Not boasted in your life, but practis'd true,
As they are hard, for them to make their owne,
So are they profitable to be knowne:
For when they find so many meet in one,
It will be shame for them, if they have none.