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To the Booke and his worthy friend the AVTHOR.
Dispers and vindicate thy Makers merits,
Late disesteem'd by Lynx ey'd censuring spirits;
Whose captivated iudgements now may see,
In this cleere glasse their owne deformitie;
Whose malice found no cause to disrespect
Thy worth, but'cause it past their intellect:
My barren Muse cannot to life set forth
Thy abstruse poesie, learning and worth:
Th'abilities which in thy bosome lye,
Will be admired of posterity:
Wer't thou but truely knowne, thy worth would raise
Thee and thy Muse: best Poets would with bayes
Crowne thy rich temples, and maugre thy will,
Would place thee highest on Parnassus hill.
Blest be their names, thy Nectar Genius nourish:
By such, deiected poesie shall flourish.
Let no Agnostus dare to read thy lines,
Th'are made for those can iudge of high designes.
In unknowne waters lest I wade too sarre,
Let thy bright rising sunne eclipse my starre.
RI. PIRT.