To His Friend The Author, John Hoddesdon, On His Divine Epigrams.

Thou hast inspired me with thy soul, and I         Who ne'er before could ken of poetry,         Am grown so good proficient, I can lend         A line in commendation of my friend.         Yet 'tis but of the second hand; if ought         There be in this, 'tis from thy fancy brought.         Good thief, who dar'st, Prometheus-like, aspire,         And fill thy poems with celestial fire:         Enliven'd by these sparks divine, their rays         Add a bright lustre to thy crown of bays.         Young eaglet, who thy nest thus soon forsook,         So lofty and divine a course hast took         As all admire, before the down begin         To peep, as yet, upon thy smoother chin;         And, making heaven thy aim, hast had the grace         To look the Sun of righteousness i' the face.         What may we hope, if thou go'st on thus fast,         Scriptures at first; enthusiasms at last!         Thou hast commenced, betimes, a saint; go on,         Mingling diviner streams with Helicon;         That they who view what epigrams here be,         May learn to make like, in just praise of thee.             Reader, I've done, nor longer will withhold         Thy greedy eyes; looking on this pure gold         Thou'lt know adulterate copper, which, like this,         Will only serve to be a foil to his.