Her suffring is her gayne. How well we see
The Battaile labour'd worthy him, and thee,
Where, wee may Death discouer with delight,
And entertaine a pleasure from a fight.
Where wee may see how well it doth become
The brau'ry of a Prince to ouercome.
What Power is a Poet: that can add
A life to Kings, more glorious, then they had.
For what of Henry, is vnsung by thee,
Henry doth want of his Eternity.

I. VAVGHAN.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. MICHAELL DRAYTON VPON THESE HIS POEMS.

SONNET.

What lofty Trophyes of eternall Fame,
England may vaunt thou do'st erect to her,
Yet forced to confesse, (yea blush for shame,)
That she no Honour doth on thee confer.
How it would become her, would she learne to knowe
Once to requite thy Heauen-borne Art and Zeale,
Or at the least her selfe but thankfull showe
Her ancient Glories that do'st still reueale:
Sing thou of Loue, thy straines (like powerfull Charmes)
Enrage the bosome with an amorous fire,
And when againe thou lik'st to sing of Armes
The Coward thou with Courage do'st inspire:
But when thou com'st to touch our Sinfull Times,
Then Heauen far more then Earth speakes in thy Rimes.

IOHN REYNOLDS.

THE VISION OF BEN. IONSON, ON THE MVSES OF HIS FRIEND M. DRAYTON.

It hath beene question'd, Michael, if I bee
A Friend at all; or, if at all, to thee:
Because, who make the question, haue not seene
Those ambling visits, passe in verse, betweene
Thy Muse, and mine, as they expect. 'Tis true:
You haue not writ to me, nor I to you;
And, though I now begin, 'tis not to rub
Hanch against Hanch, or raise a riming Club
About the towne: this reck'ning I will pay,
Without conferring symboles. This 's my day.
It was no Dreame! I was awake, and saw!
Lend me thy voyce, O Fame, that I may draw
Wonder to truth! and haue my Vision hoorld,
Hot from thy trumpet, round, about the world.
I saw a Beauty from the Sea to rise,
That all Earth look'd on; and that earth, all Eyes!
It cast a beame as when the chear-full Sun
Is fayre got vp, and day some houres begun!
And fill'd an Orbe as circular, as heauen!
The Orbe was cut forth into Regions seauen.
And those so sweet, and well proportion'd parts,
As it had beene the circle of the Arts!
When, by thy bright Ideas standing by,
I found it pure, and perfect Poesy,
There read I, streight, thy learn