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SIR.
WHen will your treasury of choise words be exhausted, when will your fountain of Eloquence be drawn dry, when will your Magazin of rich matter be emptied? never; I now plainly see the more you write, the more you have to write, and may (with re∣verence) not ineptly compare your Cranium to
the holy Chrismatory of France; you still take out, yet leave it without the least diminution; Prodigy of nature! It fares much otherwise with mee; I (if at any time big with words) fall into a pain∣full labour, and after many throwes, am alwaies by abortion diliver'd of a thing like a Bear's whelp, which I can lick into no form. Every Bucket drawn from mine own Well, goes neerer the bot∣tome, the reason is, there's no springs for reple∣tion of that store; yet in earnest the influence of your teeming Muse has (me thinks) in some mea∣sure fertilis'd my siccaneous and Barren soyle. But whether rove I? Now for News (which is the pri∣mum quaerite of these dayes) I must tell you, thus —Sir, the length of my letter and this shor∣test of daies doe not well quadre; This is the win∣ter Solstice, So is it also the station both of my invention and paper, the first is at a non p••us ultra of matter, the last only affords me roome to sub∣scribe my self
13 Decembr. 1652.
Sir,
Your vowed servant, T.B.