The rose and other fragrant flowers smell best,
When they are pluck'd and worn in hand or brest,
So this fair flow'r of vertue, this rare bud
Of wit, smells now as fresh as when he stood;
And in these Posthume-Poems lets us know,
He on the banks of Helicon did grow.
The beauty of his soul did correspond
With his sweet out-side: nay, it went beyond.
Lovelace, the minion of the Thespian dames,
Apollo's darling, born with Enthean flames,
Which in his numbers wave and shine so clear,
As sparks refracted from rich gemmes appear;
Such flames that may inspire, and atoms cast,
To make new poets not like him in hast.
Jam. Howell.