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A Letter To M.r I.W. |
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All hayle, Sweete poet, more full of more strong fire [198] |
Then hath or shall enkindle my dull spirit |
I loue what Nature gaue thee, but thy merit |
Of witt and art I loue not, but admire. |
Who hath before or shall write after thee |
Theyr workes, though toughly laboured, will bee |
Like Infancy or Age to mans firme stay |
Or early and late, Twylights to Midday. |
Men say, and truely, that they better bee |
(W.ch bee enuyd then pittyd, therefore I |
Because I wish thee best doe thee enuy. |
O wouldst thou by like reason pitty mee! |
But care not for mee; I that euer was |
In fortunes, or in Natures gifts, alas. |
(But for thy Grace got in the Muses schoole) |
A Monster and a begger, am now a foole.| |
O how I greeue that late borne Modesty |
Hath got such roote in all soft* waxen harts |
That men may not themselues theyr owne good parts |
Extoll without suspect of surquedry? |
for, but thy selfe, no subiect can bee found |
Worthy thy Quill, or any quill resound |
Thy worth but thine. How good it were to see |
A poeme in thy prayse and writt by thee? |
Now if this Song bee too harsh for rime; yet as |
The Paynters badd God made a good diuell |
T'will bee good prose although the verse bee evill |
If thou forget the rime as thou dost passe |
Then write that I may follow, and so bee |
Thy debtor, foyle, thy Eccho thy Zany |
I will bee thought, if mine like thine I shape |
All the worlds Lyon though I bee thy Ape.
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[CW: Like one] |