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177
CREDE BYRON.
To the Honourable William Byron, upon a Paper of Verses sent me—upon a Present to the most beautiful Ladies his Daughters.
1677.
[_]
These are the Verses.
You, like the gen'rous Sun, do still dispence,
To those that merit least, your influence.
Your Obligations have that pow'rful charm;
They need must conquer, when they first disarm.
The Favours, you so freely have bestow'd,
Are such we ne'r deserv'd, nor you e're ow'd.
The Debt is mine I own; I ought to pay;
But, like a Bankrupt, beg a longer Day:
They're brisk, and young; and can another way.
My Muse I should excuse, she's dull and rude;
Those that do write to you in Verse intrude;
Were not her Products all from Gratitude.
Presumption is a crime, but worse despair;
One errs in boldness, and the other fear.
But I presume you'l pardon the first Fault:
The Man's a Coward that ne'r makes Assault.
In such Atchievements if I chance to dye;
I live in fame, if in your memory.
My whole ambition only does extend
To gain the name of Shipman's faithful Friend.
And tho I cannot amply speak your praise;
I'le wear the Myrtle, tho you wear the Bayes.
To those that merit least, your influence.
Your Obligations have that pow'rful charm;
They need must conquer, when they first disarm.
The Favours, you so freely have bestow'd,
Are such we ne'r deserv'd, nor you e're ow'd.
The Debt is mine I own; I ought to pay;
But, like a Bankrupt, beg a longer Day:
They're brisk, and young; and can another way.
My Muse I should excuse, she's dull and rude;
Those that do write to you in Verse intrude;
Were not her Products all from Gratitude.
Presumption is a crime, but worse despair;
One errs in boldness, and the other fear.
But I presume you'l pardon the first Fault:
The Man's a Coward that ne'r makes Assault.
In such Atchievements if I chance to dye;
I live in fame, if in your memory.
My whole ambition only does extend
To gain the name of Shipman's faithful Friend.
And tho I cannot amply speak your praise;
I'le wear the Myrtle, tho you wear the Bayes.
W. B.
178
Did not Heav'ns blessings rich requitals bring,
Constant Devotion were a tiresome thing.
Our int'rest 'tis tho, thus to spend our Dayes,
Blessings to pray for, and when gain'd, to praise.
In this blest Circle you and I do move;
Your Love my Duty gains, and that your Love.
My Gratitude owns all you gave before,
And is an Earnest here to purchase more.
Yet when, on grateful Altars, Incense burns,
The Virtue's lost, if we expect returns;
And looks as Subjects should with Princes vye,
Exacting honour for their Loyalty.
But I'll with reverence wait, and faithful be;
Be noble Byron what he will to me.
Your Favours lose no virtue by delay;
You grant me those for which I dare not pray:
Oh, teach the Ladies, Sir, your winning way.
To be your Friend is such a glorious name,
It urges merit, and it offers fame:
I, from the Commons, rise your Buckingham.
This heightens me above the common view,
And makes me thus expostulate with you.
Constant Devotion were a tiresome thing.
Our int'rest 'tis tho, thus to spend our Dayes,
Blessings to pray for, and when gain'd, to praise.
In this blest Circle you and I do move;
Your Love my Duty gains, and that your Love.
My Gratitude owns all you gave before,
And is an Earnest here to purchase more.
Yet when, on grateful Altars, Incense burns,
The Virtue's lost, if we expect returns;
And looks as Subjects should with Princes vye,
Exacting honour for their Loyalty.
But I'll with reverence wait, and faithful be;
Be noble Byron what he will to me.
Your Favours lose no virtue by delay;
You grant me those for which I dare not pray:
Oh, teach the Ladies, Sir, your winning way.
To be your Friend is such a glorious name,
It urges merit, and it offers fame:
I, from the Commons, rise your Buckingham.
This heightens me above the common view,
And makes me thus expostulate with you.
Was't not enough your Ancestors did aid
The mighty Norman, when he did invade?
Whose noble Acts increast their former store,
And here confirm'd those Honours they brought o're?
Is't not enough that this Illustrious Line
Succeeds in you, and you maintain the Shine?
Diff'ring but thus fro' th' glory they have won,
They were the Morning, you the Mid-day Sun?
Is't not enough the Byrons all excell,
As much in loving, as in fighting well?
Witness their Motto, prov'd in Bosworth Field,
Where Truth did their triumphant Chariot gild.
Is not that fame enough your Noble Sire,
With his six noble Brothers, did acquire?
All valiant Knights! whose Title was not bought,
But under Charls his Royal standard sought.
Is't not enough that Brittish Coronet
Circles your head, your Ancestors did get?
But you must thirst after inferiour praise,
And from the Brittish Bards too gain the Bayes?
The Civic-Garland and the Mural too,
Are by succession your unquestion'd due.
The Lawrel Crown you may by title claim;
Honour's reward is Tribute to your Name.
But this of Bayes your humour may condemn,
Be not our Rival since you are our Theme.
Noble Acquists than these, you have design'd;
Honour and Glory must inflame your Mind.
Your Inroads only into Verse are made,
Like mighty Monarchs that small States invade.
It is not worth their while: the chiefest charms
Are to get fame and terrour by their Arms.
To big you are in Verse to be confin'd:
Verse is too narrow for your worth, or Mind
The mighty Norman, when he did invade?
Whose noble Acts increast their former store,
And here confirm'd those Honours they brought o're?
Is't not enough that this Illustrious Line
Succeeds in you, and you maintain the Shine?
Diff'ring but thus fro' th' glory they have won,
They were the Morning, you the Mid-day Sun?
179
As much in loving, as in fighting well?
Witness their Motto, prov'd in Bosworth Field,
Where Truth did their triumphant Chariot gild.
Is not that fame enough your Noble Sire,
With his six noble Brothers, did acquire?
All valiant Knights! whose Title was not bought,
But under Charls his Royal standard sought.
Is't not enough that Brittish Coronet
Circles your head, your Ancestors did get?
But you must thirst after inferiour praise,
And from the Brittish Bards too gain the Bayes?
The Civic-Garland and the Mural too,
Are by succession your unquestion'd due.
The Lawrel Crown you may by title claim;
Honour's reward is Tribute to your Name.
But this of Bayes your humour may condemn,
Be not our Rival since you are our Theme.
Noble Acquists than these, you have design'd;
Honour and Glory must inflame your Mind.
Your Inroads only into Verse are made,
Like mighty Monarchs that small States invade.
It is not worth their while: the chiefest charms
Are to get fame and terrour by their Arms.
To big you are in Verse to be confin'd:
Verse is too narrow for your worth, or Mind
But I am impudent, nay worse, profane,
To make your courtship of the Muses vain:
As tho there were disparagement i'th' thing;
When I would gladly do't were I a King.
Upon two Poles the Soul (like Heav'n) does move,
The bright and lasting Poles of Wit, and Love.
Nor Wit, nor Love, of Rivals will admit;
We jealous are in Love, but more in Wit.
But I offend more in this vain excuse;
Since you already have injoy'd the Muse.
She's yours by mutual choice; then 'tis not fit,
That her good Graces I should seek to get;
For that would be th' Adultery of Wit.
Sometimes you entertain her for your Sport;
So th' Players have admittance to the Court.
The Roman Consul with his Children play'd;
And Jove Sports sometimes with his Ganimede.
After such Toying she'l inconstant be;
And your attraits will make her cuckold me.
To make your courtship of the Muses vain:
As tho there were disparagement i'th' thing;
When I would gladly do't were I a King.
Upon two Poles the Soul (like Heav'n) does move,
The bright and lasting Poles of Wit, and Love.
180
We jealous are in Love, but more in Wit.
But I offend more in this vain excuse;
Since you already have injoy'd the Muse.
She's yours by mutual choice; then 'tis not fit,
That her good Graces I should seek to get;
For that would be th' Adultery of Wit.
Sometimes you entertain her for your Sport;
So th' Players have admittance to the Court.
The Roman Consul with his Children play'd;
And Jove Sports sometimes with his Ganimede.
After such Toying she'l inconstant be;
And your attraits will make her cuckold me.
T. S.
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