University of Virginia Library

To his much esteemed Friend Mr Robert Baron upon his Poem.

When Morpheus (Serjeant of the night) had spred
The foulding curtaines of my drouzy bed,
This vision (in my dreame disturbed rest)
Kept midnight Revels in my troubled brest.
Me thinkes I saw upon the bifork't mount
Ray-circuled Apollo set, and count
His bay brow'd Sonnes I saw Jove's daughter too
Minerva, in her right hand leading you,
In'r left she held thy booke, she bow'd and broake,
Her long continued silence, and thus spoke,
“See Phæbus, here a new star risen be
“I'th Galaxia of sweet poesie,
“No Plbeian Poetaster, he is one
“That is the A'tlas of thy Lyrick throne,
“You'ue seene his face, take here his booke and finde
“Portraitur'd by his owne rare pen, his minde.
He took't and red thy slowrie pastorall,
Thy courtly masque, verse, prose, applauded all,
He stood amaz'd (to say true) and did muse
That one so young such fine things should produce.
At last he tooke a Daphnian wreath and laid
It on thy ever honour'd head and said,
“Welcome deare sonne still may the Delphick lyre
“Be struck by thee, sonne welcome to our quire.
“thy Life beyound thy Life from shall extend,
“Fates have not power to make thy end, thy end.
“Thou shalt out-live thy selfe, and not be dead
“When dead this wreath shall bud about thy head,
“These strenuous lines, these smooth poetick layes
“Shall crowne thy Urne with ever-verdant bayes.
This done, I wak't, and proud am growne to be
A SMITH to Hammer out thy dignity.