 | Microcosmos |  |
To the Right Honorable the Earle of Mar. &c.
Loe, how my Muse (inflamed by desireTo winne thy loue in paying thee thine owne)
Doth striue with VVitts dull sword, and loves quicke fire,
To honor thee; but how? that is vnknowne.
And if vnknowne to me, then needs it must,
To All to whom my Thoughts are lesse reveal'd;
In me it's like an Embrio, or like Dust,
Wherein the first Man laie, at first conceal'd:
I am devising how to fash'on it,
God grant I spoile it not in hammering;
And if I doe, Ile sacrifize my VVitt
In fire of Zeale, the while my Muse doth sing,
Like to the Swanne when death the songe ensu'th,
Most blest to die with sweete Mar in her Mouth.
I. D.
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