Thy Worth unto the Knowing World is knowne, Let Criticks censure others by their owne, And tinct their foreheads with a purple shame, When they shall see thy Works, or heare thy Name, Whilst with thy owne, thou sets forth others fame; Whose lofty Anthems, in our English tone Thou sing'st, and mak'st them live, though dead and gone, What barking or untutor'd Momus then Will dare to belch against thy learned Pen? Whose worthier Lines, unto their foule disgrace, Shall spit defiance in a brasen face; And when th' art dead, thy Poesie shall sing Such pleasant straines, whereof the World shall ring; And Envies selfe, in spight of all Assayes, Shall crowne thy Tombe-stone with eternall Bayes.
