 | Love Crownes the End |  |
To his friend M. Iohn Tatham, upon his Fancies Theater.
My Muse composed more of love than fire,Would spare her Pen, and silently admire
Thy worth, which her expressions cannot rayse,
Unlesse she borrow thine owne stile and phrase,
And from thy proper heapes purloyne a store,
Which payes one debt to make a thousand more;
Did not thy friendship and thy sacred merit
Conjure up flames even in a frozen spirit.
Though last in number, thinke me not the least,
I thought as much as all thy Friends exprest;
But our sincere desires suffer much wrong,
Since the sad diff'rence 'twixt the heart and tongue;
My thoughts soare high, though my expression's weake,
True friends think out their tale, when others speake.
Yet write I this not for peculiar ends,
To cast aspersion on your other friends;
I in that Consort jointly doe preferre
My off'ring to thy Fancies Theater.
An. Newport.
| Love Crownes the End | |