Poems, by J.D. VVith elegies on the authors death

To Sir H. W. at his going Ambassa∣dor to Venice.

AFter those reverend papers, whose soule is Our good and great Kings lov'd hand and fear'd name▪ By which to you he derives much of his, And (how he may) makes you almost the same,

A Taper of his Torch, a copie writ From his Originall, and a faire beame Of the same warme, and dazeling Sun, though it Must in another Sphere his vertue streame:

After those learned papers which your hand Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasures too, From which rich treasury you may command Fit matter whether you will write or doe:

After those loving papers, where friends send With glad griefe, to your Sea-ward steps, farewel, Which thicken on you now, as prayers ascend To heaven in troupes at'a good mans passing bell:

Admit this honest paper, and allow It such an audience as your selfe would aske; What you must say at Venice this meanes now, And hath for nature, what you have for taske.

To sweare much love, not to be chang'd before Honour alone will to your fortune fit; Nor shall I then honour your fortune, more Then I have done your honour wanting it.

But'tis an easier load (though both oppresse) To want, then governe greatnesse, for wee are In that, our owne and onely businesse, In this, wee must for others vices care;

'Tis therefore well your spirits now are plac'd In their last Furnace, in activity; Which fits them (Schooles and Courts and warres o'rpast To touch and test in any best degree.

For mee, (if there be such a thing as I) Fortune (if there be such a thing as shee) Spies that I beare so well her tyranny, That she thinks nothing else so fit for mee;

But though she part us, to heare my oft prayers For your increase, God is as neere mee here; And to send you what I shall begge, his staires In length and ease are alike every where.