 | Love Crownes the End |  |
To his friend M. Io. Tatham on his Fancies Theater.
When I beheld and view'd each sev'rall lineAppearing a full fraughted Magazine
Of choyce conceits; such as our Fancies now
(Diff'ring from what they were) must needs allow:
How sweet and how delici'ous to the taste:
How pleasing to the eye, how trim'd, how chaste;
And where thy Fancy hits upon a crime,
Thy Verse doth mask it, suting with the Time;
How eloquent thou art, how thine owne phrase
Becomes an Orator, and tells thy praise;
The faults I found were few, the greatest was
(And yet for some knowne reasons it may passe)
Where thou do'st court thy Mistris, and doth wipe
Each word with gold, enough for to invite
All eyes, all hearts; our greatest feare was, wee
Should suffer by th'inchanting Orat'ry.
I know thy Muse is chaste, and will not strive,
T'attract all Beauties to her pleasing hive.
My wishes bid goe on, and may thy Rime
Flourish beyond the utmost date of Time.
William Barnes.
| Love Crownes the End | |