he heat of my late ague hath dried up those springs,
by which scholars say the Muses use to take up their habitations.
However, I need not their help to reprove the vanity of those many
love-poems, that are daily writ, and consecrated to Venus; nor to
bewail that so few are writ, that look towards God and Heaven. For my
own part, my meaning--dear Mother--is, in these Sonnets, to declare my
resolution to be, that my poor abilities in Poetry, shall be all and
ever consecrated to God's glory: and I beg you to receive this as one
testimony."

[Sidenote: and Sonnets]

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,
Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn,
Besides their other flames? Doth Poetry
Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn?
Why are not Sonnets made of thee? and lays
Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love
Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise
As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove
Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight?
Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same,
Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name?
Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might
Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose
Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse?
Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry
Oceans of ink; for as the Deluge did
Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty;
Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid
Poets to turn it to another use.
Roses and lilies speak Thee; and to make
A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse.
Why should I women's eyes for crystal take?
Such poor invention burns in their low mind
Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go
To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow.
Open the bones, and you shall nothing find
In the best face but filth; when, Lord, in Thee
The beauty lies in the discovery.
G.H.

This was his resolution at the sending this letter to his dear Mother,
about which time he was in the seventeenth year of his age: and as he
grew older, so he grew in learning, and more and more in favour both
with God and man: insomuch that, in this morning of that short day
of his life, he seemed to be marked out for virtue, and to become the
care of Heaven; for God still kept his soul in so holy a frame, that
he may, and ought to be a pattern of virtue to all posterity, and
especially to his brethren of the Clergy, of which the Reader may
expect a more exact account in wha