 | The Poetical Works of William Drummond of Hawthornden
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ii.
To the honorable Author, S[ir] J[ohn] Sk[ene].
All lawes but cob-webes are, but none such right
Had to this title as these lawes of ours,
Ere that they were from their cimerian Bowres
By thy ingenious labours brought to light.
Our statutes senslesse statues did remaine,
Till thou (a new Prometheus) gaue them breath,
Or like ag'd Æsons bodye courb'd to death,
When thou young bloud infus'd in eurye veine.
Thrice-happye Ghosts! which after-worlds shall wow,
That first tam'd barbarisme by your swords,
Then knew to keepe it fast in nets of words,
Hindring what men not suffer would to doe;
To Joue the making of the World is due,
But that it turnes not chaos, is to you.
| The Poetical Works of William Drummond of Hawthornden
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