 | Rhodon and Iris |  |
To his friend the Author.
May
none but Phæbus kisse thy lines with sight,
Hee'l doe thee right.
Tis not for mortals once to dare to scanne,
Thy height 'bove man.
This speakes thy fellowship with supreme gods,
There's naught puts oddes,
But lifes eternitie: tush, thy lines shall be,
A saint like canon of thy memory.
Hee'l doe thee right.
Tis not for mortals once to dare to scanne,
Thy height 'bove man.
This speakes thy fellowship with supreme gods,
There's naught puts oddes,
But lifes eternitie: tush, thy lines shall be,
A saint like canon of thy memory.
Be bold then to the world, and dumbe that tongue
That dares thee wrong:
Yet thus give leave to vulgar braines to clap
Agnostus cap
Vpon their heads, whose braines doe much lesse crave,
Then I deprave.
Scorne blast their dwellings in simplicity
That spit their poyson; none shall venome thee.
That dares thee wrong:
Yet thus give leave to vulgar braines to clap
Agnostus cap
Vpon their heads, whose braines doe much lesse crave,
Then I deprave.
Scorne blast their dwellings in simplicity
That spit their poyson; none shall venome thee.
William Dennye.
| Rhodon and Iris | |