The Rebellion A Tragedy |
To his Ingenious Friend Mr. Rawlins, the Author of the Rebellion.
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 | The Rebellion |  |
To his Ingenious Friend Mr. Rawlins, the Author of the Rebellion.
What need I strive to prayse thy worthy frame,Or raise a Trophy to thy lasting name?
Were my bad wit with Eloquence refin'd,
When I have said my most, the most's behind.
But that I might be knowne for one of them,
Which doe admire thy wit, and love thy pen.
J could not better shew forth my good will,
Then to salute you with my Virgin Quill.
And bring you something to adorne your head
Among a throng of friends, who oft have read
Your learned Poems, and doe honour thee:
And thy bright Genius. How like a curious tree
Is thy sweet fancy, bearing fruit so rare
The Learned still will covet. Momus no share
Shall have of it; but end his wretched dayes
In griefe, 'cause now now he seeth th'art Crown'd with Bayes.
Jo. Meriell.
| The Rebellion | |