If I dare write to You, my Lord, who are,
Of your own selfe, a Publick Theater.
And sitting, see the wiles, wayes, walks of wit,
And give a righteous judgement upon it.
What need I care, though some dislike me sho'd,
If Dorset say, what Herrick writes, is good?
We know y'are learn'd i'th'Muses, and no lesse
In our State-sanctions, deep, or bottomlesse.
Whose smile can make a Poet; and your glance
Dash all bad Poems out of countenance.
So, that an Author needs no other Bayes
For Coronation, then Your onely Praise.
And no one mischief greater then your frown,
To null his Numbers, and to blast his Crowne.
Few live the life immortall. He ensures
His Fame's long life, who strives to set up Tours.