This to thyself. Now to thy matchless Book,
Wherein those few that can with Judgement look,
May find old Love in pure fresh Language told,
Like new stampt Coyn made out of Angel gold.
Such truth in Love as th'antique world did know,
In such a style as Courts may boast of now.
Which no bold tales of Gods or Monsters swell,
But humane Passions, such as with us dwell.
Man is thy theam, his Virtue or his Rage
Drawn to the life in each elaborate Page.
Mars nor Bellona are not named here;
But such a Gondibert as both might fear.
Venus had here, and Hebe been out-shin'd
By thy bright Birtha, and thy Rhodalind.
Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds
Betwixt thy Worthies and the Grecian Gods.
Whose Deities in vain had here come down,
Where Mortal Beautie wears the Sovereign Crown;
Such as of flesh compos'd, by flesh and bloud
(Though not resisted) may be understood.
Wherein those few that can with Judgement look,
May find old Love in pure fresh Language told,
Like new stampt Coyn made out of Angel gold.
Such truth in Love as th'antique world did know,
In such a style as Courts may boast of now.
Which no bold tales of Gods or Monsters swell,
But humane Passions, such as with us dwell.
Man is thy theam, his Virtue or his Rage
Drawn to the life in each elaborate Page.
Mars nor Bellona are not named here;
But such a Gondibert as both might fear.
Venus had here, and Hebe been out-shin'd
By thy bright Birtha, and thy Rhodalind.
Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds
Betwixt thy Worthies and the Grecian Gods.
Whose Deities in vain had here come down,
Where Mortal Beautie wears the Sovereign Crown;
Such as of flesh compos'd, by flesh and bloud
(Though not resisted) may be understood.
TO
