University of Virginia Library

On the Memory of his most Ingenious friend, Master Thomas Beedome, and his Poems.

So many great names fixt before thy Booke,
It cannot Beedome now descend, to looke,
For my more humble straines, but love in Art,
Is not compris'd, its Mansion is the heart.
And a small graine of incense, which is given,
With a pure zeale, sure better pleaseth heaven,
Then a vast pile of rich Sabean gums,
Or Altars smoaking with fat Hecatoms.
From feignd devotion, I must therefore say,
All that my infant Muse, now strives to pay,
Unto thy worke, shall onely boast to be
A sacrifice to thy lov'd memorie.
Nor doe I hope (as others) to adorne,
With my quaint lines thy Booke, mine were but borne,
As subjects to thy worth, from whence they strive,
Their utmost fame, and glory to derive.
Their sole ambition being to attend
Thee, with the true devotions of a friend.
Though for thy death I grieve, for this I joy,
That thy faire issue lives, which to destroy,
Time is unable, for thy name shall have,
A glorious life, and tryumph ore thy grave.