Dear Sir of late delighted with the
Of your four Sisters cloth'd in black and white,
Of fairer Dames the Sun, ne'r saw the face;
Though made a pedestal for Adams Race;
Their worth so shines in these rich lines you
Their paralels to finde I scarcely
To climbe their Climes,
I have nor strength nor
To mount so high requires an Eagles quill;
Yet view thereof did cause my thoughts to soar;
My lowly pen might wait upon these fourI bring my four times four, now meanly
To do their homage, unto yours, full glad:
Who for their Age, their worth and
Might seem of yours to claim precedency:
But by my humble hand, thus rudely
They are, your bounden handmaids to
These same are they, from whom we being
These are of all, the Life, the Nurse, the Grave,
These are the hot, the cold, the moist, the dry,
That sink, that swim, that fill, that upwards fly,
Of these consists our bodies,
Cloathes and Food,
The World, the useful, hurtful, and the good,
Sweet harmony they keep, yet jar oft
Their discord doth appear, by these harsh
Yours did contest for wealth, for Arts, for Age,
My first do shew their good, and then their rage.
My other foures do intermixed
Each others faults, and where themselves excell;
How hot and dry contend with moist and cold,
How Air and Earth no correspondence hold,
And yet in equal tempers, how they
How divers natures make one
Something of all (though mean) I did
But fear'd you'ld judge Du Bartas was my friendI honour him, but dare not wear his
My goods are true (though poor) I love no
But if I did I durst not send them
Who must reward a Thief, but with his due.
I shall not need, mine innocence to
These ragged lines, will do't, when they appear:
On what they are, your mild aspect I
Accept my best, my worst vouchsafe a Grave.
From her that to your self, more duty
Then water in the boundess Ocean flows.
