That thou within few months shalt be
The youthful Prince d'Amour here.
I smil'd, and bade him once more prove,
And by some cross-line show it,
That I could ne'er be prince of love,
Though here the princely poet.
167. HOW PRIMROSES CAME GREEN.
Virgins, time-past, known were these,
Troubled with green-sicknesses:
Turn'd to flowers, still the hue,
Sickly girls, they bear of you.
168. TO JOS., LORD BISHOP OF EXETER.
Whom should I fear to write to if I can
Stand before you, my learn'd diocesan?
And never show blood-guiltiness or fear
To see my lines excathedrated here.
Since none so good are but you may condemn,
Or here so bad but you may pardon them.
If then, my lord, to sanctify my muse
One only poem out of all you'll choose,
And mark it for a rapture nobly writ,
'Tis good confirm'd, for you have bishop'd it.
Blood-guiltiness, guilt betrayed by blushing; cp. 837.
Excathedrated, condemned ex cathedra.
