Hee sweetly touched, what I harshly hit, Yet thus I glory in what I have writ; Sidney began (and if a wit so meane May taste with him the dewes of Hippocrene) I sung the Past'rall next; his Muse, my mover: And on the Plaines full many a pensive lover Shall sing us to their loves, and praising be My humble lines: the more, for praising thee. Thus we shall live with them, by Rockes, by Springs, As well as Homer by the death of Kings.
