To M. Denham On His Prospective Poem.

Or look'd I back unto the times hence flown     To praise those Muses and dislike our own--     Or did I walk those Pan-gardens through,     To kick the flowers and scorn their odours too--     I might, and justly, be reputed here     One nicely mad or peevishly severe.     But by Apollo! as I worship wit,     Where I have cause to burn perfumes to it;     So, I confess, 'tis somewhat to do well     In our high art, although we can't excel     Like thee, or dare the buskins to unloose     Of thy brave, bold, and sweet Maronian muse.     But since I'm call'd, rare Denham, to be gone,     Take from thy Herrick this conclusion:     'Tis dignity in others, if they be     Crown'd poets, yet live princes under thee;     The while their wreaths and purple robes do shine     Less by their own gems than those beams of thine.