University of Virginia Library

1. To the Right Honourable John Lord Mohun Baron of Okehampton, my Uncle in Law.

My Lord, unto you now I have not writ
For Ostentation, or to boast my wit,
I know it weak; this onely is to shew
How willingly I'de pay the debt I owe;
Which though I cannot, I should be most rude
To let my Silence prove Ingratitude.
I must write therefore, though when I have done
I rest in silent Admiration.
Be you but pleas'd to reade, although tis true
I cannot draw a line deserveth you:
So gracious Kings will give their Subjects leave
To gratulate the Blessings they receive.
Let our most able Poets, such as can
Feign vertues for a well deserving Man,
Express with th'eloquence of all the Arts,
Half one of your Innumerable Parts:
I can but onely wonder, and profess
I know so little that I cannot guess.
It were an easier matter to declare
The heights and depthes that in each Science are:
All Labyrinthes that Dialect affords,
And (Critick-like) which are the hardest words.
Of you a Character would be a task
Mæonides and Maro would not ask,
If for preeminence they were to write;
It is so weighty, and their skill so slight.
The fluent Singer of the Changes would
In imploration for Aide grow old:
And yet they were the Miracles of Wit,
Through all Times famous, and renowned yet;
Honour'd by Grandees of the world, and by
The Supreme beauty of sweet Italy.
Witness the conquering Macedonian Prince,
Who wept for envy Homer's eloquence,
And mighty Poesie rais'd to the Stars
Achilles Fame; and thunder'd not his wars:
And great Augustus who could easily slight
All other things, t'admire rich Virgil's height.
Witness bright Julia too, who far above
The Roman Princes all did Ovid love.
Happy was Orpheus that in former times
(To admiration) did rehearse his rhimes:
So was Amphion too, that long ago
His matchless skill in poetry did show.
Had they been your Contemporaries, they
(Whom all men did, and Salvages obey,
And rocks and trees) with all their study ne're
Could pen one line worth your attentive ear.
Had great Æacides your worthes, he so
Had not effected Hectors Overthrow:
He had been slain fairly or liv'd; for great
And worthy mindes unworthy Actions hate.
Ajax was onely honour'd in the field;
Would you had pleaded for him, for the sheild,
The Ithacan disgrac'd away had gone,
And the blunt Souldier put the trophie on.
Comparisons are odious; I disgrace
You, to look on you by anothers face.
You Heaven-bred souls whom Phœbus doth inspire
From high Olympus with Poetick fire,
Bewail no more these ignorant wretched days;
This singular Lord will not withhold the Bays.
You Sisters that frequent the Thespian Spring,
And on Parnassus Io Pæans sing,
He hath been, and is now a Patron to you,
And in his own immortal Lays doth woe you.
Proceed my Lord, and let it be your Glory
No Chronicler dares put you in his Story:
For if your vertues verse cannot express,
I must believe that heavy Prose much less.
Again proceed, and let this move you to it;
Of your own worthes you must be your own Poet:
Or let your vertues rule Amazements throne,
To be expres'd by no Muse but your own:
And (lest from your own goodness you decline)
Pardon each fault that is in every line.