To Sr Will. D'Avenant, Upon His Two First Books of Gondibert

Hus the wise Nightingale that leaves her home, Her native Wood, when Storms and Winter come, Pursuing constantly the chearfull Spring To forreign Groves does her old Musick bring: The drooping banish'd Harps unstrung At upon the Willows hung; Yours sounds aloud, and tells us you excell No less in Courage, than in Singing well; Whilst unconcern'd you let your Countrey know, They have impov'rished themselves, not you; Who with the Muses help can mock those Fates Which threaten Kingdoms, and disorder States. So when from rage he fled, The Muse to with him led, Where he so sung, that We through Pitie's Glass, See milder than was. Hereafter such in thy behalf shall be Th'indulgent censure of Posteritie. To banish those who with such art can sing, Is a rude crime which its own Curse does bring: Ages to come shall ne'r know how they fought, Nor how to Love their present Youth be taught. This to thyself. Now to thy matchless Book, Wherein those few that can with Judgement look, May find old Love in pure fresh Language told, Like new stampt Coyn made out of . Such truth in Love as th'antique world did know, In such a style as Courts may boast of now. Which no bold tales of or swell, But humane Passions, such as with us dwell. is thy theam, his Virtue or his Rage Drawn to the life in each elaborate Page. nor are not named here; But such a as both might fear. had here, and been out-shin'd By thy bright , and thy . Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds Betwixt thy and the . Whose Deities in vain had here come down, Where Mortal Beautie wears the Sovereign Crown; Such as of flesh compos'd, by flesh and bloud (Though not resisted) may be understood.