 | Love Crownes the End |  |
To his friend M. Iohn Tatham on his Fancies Theater.
To shew my selfe in Print I ne're had thought,But that thy Fancies has my thoughts out-wrought.
What shall I say? 'tis this I doe admire,
And think thy wits like to th'aspiring fire,
Will ne're descend; thy braine from vulgar straines
Is clarifi'd so neatly, it containes
Th'Epitome of smooth and well scan'd verse,
And though in future times thy aged herse,
Shall be enthron'd with Lawrell; yet this age
May blame my zealous friendship, and in rage
Both carp at thee, and me: But it shall ne're
Make me strike sayle, but rather make my steere
Beare stiffe with malice for to think that men
Would make abortive this thy Infant Pen.
But yet my hopes are confident, that they
Cannot but give thy worth a branch of Bay,
Though not a Lawrell, which slow-paced Time
Shall bring, and humbly offer at thy Shrine.
H. Davison.
| Love Crownes the End | |