To my louing Friend Iohn Taylor.
CO••ld my vnpractis'd pen aduance thy name, Thou shouldst be feared on the wings of Fame. For from thy toylesome Oare I wonder I, How thy inuent••on siowes so io••ondly? Not hauing dream'd on faire Pernassus Hill, With truitfull numbers to enrich thy Quill. Nor hauing washt in that Pegassion Fount, Which lends the wits such nimblenesse to mount With tickling rapture on Poetique straines, On Thames the Muses floate that fils thy braines. Thy happy wit produc'd thy happy times, Which shall comm••nd thee vnto after times. And wortly enroll thy name 'mongst those, Whose Temples are begirt, with Lawrell bowes. For (footh to say) a worke I saw not yet, Lesse help•• with learning, ••nd more grac'd with wit: Then spight of enuie and detractions scorne, Though Art thou want'st, thou art a Poet borne: And as a friend for names sake I'le say thus, Nee scombros metuentia, Carminance thus,Hen: Tayler