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To Phœbus.
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Phœbus! Euen the Swann from forth her wings,(Jumping her proyning-banck) thee sweetly sings,
By bright Peneus, whirle-pit-making-streames.
Thee, that thy Lute; mak'st sound so to thy Beames.
Thee, first and last, the sweete-voic't singer, still
Sings; for thy songs-all-songs-transcending skill.
Thy Pleasure then; shall my song still supply:
And so salutes thee, King of Poësie.
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To
