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TO THE FAMOUS POET Capt. George Withers.
Anagr.
I go gether Verso.
Vers.
Thy name it selfe sayes; I go gether verse.
So that thy store-house never can be scarce.
The Stock Whence thou, thy lines, and loaves, do gether,
Shall fresh continue, and revive, though Wither.
Epigr.
ALL ye who brag of brave Saint George come hither,
And England, henceforth, boast of thy George Wither,
Lay off your emblems, do no Trophies raise,
Unlesse for Withers solemnize no dayes,
Rare Withers, thou whose verses were foretold,
As Prophesies; and secrets to unfold,
Whose young, and yet, undaunted spirit priz'd,
Thy rare inventions, (well nigh sacrifiz'd)
Before thy freedome; and whose fluent pen,
Makes thee more famous then those mighty men,
Whose mines of gold, and greatest store of such,
Can not be reckoned, near thy worth by much,
To thee, my Muse, though unacquainted must,
Into thy wing of fame; a feather thrust,
To mount thee higher, and to make thee flye,
Above thy own expressions, mortals eye:
The best of wits, the rarest of the Nine,
Whose high inventions, in thy verse divine,
Makes me admire thee far much more, then others,
Renowned Poet; ra••e and worthy Withers.
W. M.