|
| Pronounce, that all these praises should be true, |
| And vertue should your beauty,'and birth outgrow. |
|
| Now that my prophesies are all fulfill'd, |
| Rather then God should not be honour'd too, |
| And all these gifts confess'd, which hee instill'd, |
| Your selfe were bound to say thar which I doe. |
|
| So I, but your Recorder am in this, |
| Or mouth, or Speaker of the universe, |
| A ministeriall notary, for 'tis |
| Not I, but you and fame, that make this verse; |
|
| I was your Prophet in your yonger dayes, |
| And now your Chaplaine, God in you to praise. |
|
| To M. I. W. |
|
| All haile sweet Poët, more full of more strong fire, |
| Then hath or shall enkindle any spirit, |
| I lov'd what nature gave thee, but this merit |
| Of wit and Art I love not but admire; |
| Who have before or shall write after thee, |
| Their workes, though toughly laboured, will bee |
| Like infancie or age to mans firme stay, |
| Or earely and late twilights to mid-day.
|
[CW: Men] |