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.