University of Virginia Library

To his friend of the Author.

Blesse me you sacred Sister. What a throng
Of choice Encomions's prest? such as was sung
When the sweet singer Stesichorus liv'd;
Upon whose lips the Nightingale surviv'd.
What makes my sickly fancy hither hye
(Unlesse it be for shelter?) when the eye
Of each peculiar Artist makes a quest
After my slender Iudgement: then a Jest
Dissolves my thoughts to nothing, and my paines
Has its reward in adding to my staines.
But as the Riuer of Athamas can fire
The sullen wood, and make its flames aspire,
So the infused comfort I receive
By th'tye of friendship, prompts me to relieve
My fainting spirits; and with a full saile,
Rush 'mongst your Argoseys dispite of haile,
Or stormes of Critticks. Friend, to thee J come,
I know th'ast harbour, I defie much roome:
Besides, Ile pay thee for't in gratefull Verse,
Since that thou art Witts abstract, Ile rehearse:
Nothing shall wooll your eares with a long Phraise,
Of a sententious folly; for to raise
Sad Pyramids of flattery, that may be
Condemn'd for the sincere prolixity.
Let Envy turne her Mantle, and expose
Her rotten intralls to infect the Rose,
Or pine like greennesse of thy extant wit:
Yet shall thy Homers Shield demolish it.
Upon thy Quill as on an Eagles wing,
Thou shalt be led through th'ayre's sweet whispering:
And with thy Pen thou shalt ingrave thy name,
(Better then Pencill) in the List of fame.