So Phoebus makes me worthy of his bays,
As but to speak thee, Overbury, is praise:
So, where thou liv'st, thou mak'st life understood!
Where, what makes others great, doth keep thee good!
I think, the Fate of court thy coming craved,
That the wit there, and manners might be saved:
For since, what ignorance, what pride is fled!
And letters, and humanity in the stead!
Repent thee not of thy fair precedent,
Could make such men, and such a place repent:
Nor may any fear, to lose of their degree,
Who in such ambition can but follow thee.