On his other Poems

Thou hast redeem'd us, will; and future Times, Shall not account unto the Age's crimes Dearth of pure Wit: since the great Lord of it (Donne) parted hence, no Man has ever writ So neere him, in's owne way: I would commend Particulars, but then, how should I end Without a Volume? Ev'ry Line of thine Would aske (to praise it right) Twenty of mine.

I. Suckling.