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The works of Sr William Davenant

... Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed, and Those which he design'd for the Press: Now published Out of the Authors Originall Copies
  

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To the Lord B. in performance of a vow, that night to write to him.
  
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To the Lord B. in performance of a vow, that night to write to him.

My Lord, it hath been ask'd, why 'mongst those few
I singled out for Fame, I chose not you
With early speed the first? but I, that strive
My manners should preserve my Verse alive:
That read Men, and my self; would not permit
The boldness of my love, should tax my wit.
There are degrees, that to the Altar lead;
Where ev'ry rude, dull Sinner must not tread:
'Tis not to bring, a swift thankes-giving Tongue,
Or Prayers made as vehement as long,
Can priviledge a zealous Votarie,
To come, where the High Priest should only be:
Then why should I (where some more skilful hand
May offer Gummes, and Spice) strew Dust, and Sand?
And this (my chief of Lords) made me designe
Those noble flames, sprung from your nobler Wine,
To keep my spirits warme, till I could prove
My Numbers smooth, and mighty as my love:
Yet such my treach'rous fate, that I this night
(Fierce with untutor'd heat) did vow to write:

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But happy those, who undertake no more
Than what their stock of rage hath rul'd before!
It is a Poet's sin, that doth excel
In love, or wine, not to resolve how well,
But strait how much to write, for then we think
The vast tumultuous Sea is but our Ink;
The World, our Forrest too, and that we may
Believe each Tree, that in it grows, a Bay.
My vow now kept, I'm loth (my Lord) to do
Wrong to your justice, and your mercy too;
The last if you vouchsafe, you will excuse
A strong Religion here, though not a Muse