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THE EPISTLE
Gainst Enuies steele, to draw their leaden swords,
Or gainst Hare-lipt Detraction, Contempt,
All which, from all Resistance stand exempt,
It being as hard to seuer Wrong from Merit,
As meate-indude, from blood; or blood from spirit.
Nor in the spirits Chariot rides the soule
In bodies chaste, with more diuine controule;
Nor virtue shines more in a louely Face;
Then true desert, is stuck off with Disgrace.
And therefore truth it selfe that had to blesse
The merit of it all, Almightinesse;
Would not protect it, from the Bane and Ban
Of all Moodes most distraught, and Stygian;
As counting it the Crowne of all Desert,
Borne to Heauen, to take of Earth, no part
Of false Ioy here, for Ioyes-there-endlesse troth,
Nor sell his Birthright for a messe of Broth.
But stay and still sustaine, and his Blisse bring,
Like to the hatching of the Black-thornes spring,
With bitter frosts, and smarting haile-stormes forth;
Fates loue Bees labors; onely Paine crownes Worth.
This Dedication calls no Greatnes then,
To patrone this Greatnes-creating Penn;
Nor you to add to your dead calme a breath;
For those arm'd Angells, that in spight of death
Inspir'd those flowrs that wrought this poets wreath
Shall keepe it euer, Poesies steepest Starr,
As, in Earths flaming wals, Heauens seuenfold Carr,
Or gainst Hare-lipt Detraction, Contempt,
All which, from all Resistance stand exempt,
It being as hard to seuer Wrong from Merit,
As meate-indude, from blood; or blood from spirit.
Nor in the spirits Chariot rides the soule
In bodies chaste, with more diuine controule;
Nor virtue shines more in a louely Face;
Then true desert, is stuck off with Disgrace.
And therefore truth it selfe that had to blesse
The merit of it all, Almightinesse;
Would not protect it, from the Bane and Ban
Of all Moodes most distraught, and Stygian;
As counting it the Crowne of all Desert,
Borne to Heauen, to take of Earth, no part
Of false Ioy here, for Ioyes-there-endlesse troth,
Nor sell his Birthright for a messe of Broth.
But stay and still sustaine, and his Blisse bring,
Like to the hatching of the Black-thornes spring,
With bitter frosts, and smarting haile-stormes forth;
Fates loue Bees labors; onely Paine crownes Worth.
This Dedication calls no Greatnes then,
To patrone this Greatnes-creating Penn;
Nor you to add to your dead calme a breath;
For those arm'd Angells, that in spight of death
Inspir'd those flowrs that wrought this poets wreath
Shall keepe it euer, Poesies steepest Starr,
As, in Earths flaming wals, Heauens seuenfold Carr,
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