Pardon free truth and let thy modesty, Which conquers all, be once o'ercome by thee. But for their powers, accept my piety. Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due, It makes the father less to rue. For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such As what he loves may never like too much. But these, desired by you, the maker's ends Crown with their own.
Rare poems ask rare friends.
But, when they heard it taxed, took more offense. Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are The Muses' evening, as their morning star.