To The Right Honourable Edward, Earl Of Dorset.

If I dare write to you, my lord, who are Of your own self a public theatre, And, sitting, see the wiles, ways, walks of wit, And give a righteous judgment upon it, What need I care, though some dislike me should, If Dorset say what Herrick writes is good? We know y'are learn'd i' th' Muses, and no less In our state-sanctions, deep or bottomless. Whose smile can make a poet, and your glance Dash all bad poems out of countenance; So that an author needs no other bays For coronation than your only praise, And no one mischief greater than your frown To null his numbers, and to blast his crown. Few live the life immortal. He ensures His fame's long life who strives to set up yours.