[Joseph Haslewood: The following is from a Manuscript collection of State Poems.]
I must confess that I am one of those, Admire a fancye more in verse than prose; Yett thou in both workst on my judgement soe, I scarce knowe which to chuse, which to lett goe; As if Platonick transmigrations were, The harpe of David still me thinkes I heare; Thy powerful Muse hath soe strong influence Upon my trobled soule, and every sence: For when thou Salamon's misticke-straines dost singe, Thy Muse then speakes the language of that kinge: And when thou undertak'st the kinges just cause, Thy strength is such, thy reasons bind like lawes: This doth thy reason and thy loyaltye praise That crownes thy statutes with eternall bayes: Thy Muse hath rais'd a monument for the, Thy prose a pyramid of loyaltye: Thy memorye shalbe precious here belowe Whilst menn the use of sacred learning knowe, Thy soule is with thy deare beloved king's And there with him new Haleluiahs sings.
