 | Ivvenilia |  |
To the impartiall Author.
George , I did ever thinke thy faithfull breastContain'd a minde beyond the common sort;
Phy very looke and honest heart exprest,
And seem'd an awfull mildnesse to import.
Poets may vaunt of smooth and lofty straines;
Thine with thy subject fitly doe agree.
But then thy Muse a better praise obtaines,
For whilst the greatest but Time-pleasures be,
Thou unappald and freely speak'st the truth;
Not any one for feare or lucre sparing:
A vertue rare in age more rare in youth;
Another Cato but I thinke more daring.
Well maist thou speed in these tempestuous times;
Thou soone beginst to make the world thy foe,
Yet I so well doe like thine honest Rimes,
That I could wish all Poets would write so:
For thou the way of truth so rightly tend'st,
I hold them double prais'd whom thou commend'st.
Thy deare friend, Th. C.
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