For brave comportment, wit without offence,
Words fully flowing, yet of influence,
Thou art that man of men, the man alone
Worthy the public admiration;
Who with thine own eyes read'st what we do write,
And giv'st our numbers euphony and weight;
Tell'st when a verse springs high; how understood
To be, or not, born of the royal blood
What state above, what symmetry below,
Lines have, or should have, thou the best can show:—
For which, my Charles, it is my pride to be,
Not so much known, as to be loved of thee:—
Long may I live so, and my wreath of bays
Be less another's laurel, than thy praise.
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