'Then most admired sovereign, let your breath

Go forth upon the waters, and create
A golden world in this our iron age,
And be the prosperous forewind to a fleet,
That seconding your last, may go before it,
In all success of profit and renown;
Doubt not but your election was divine,
As well by fate as your high judgment or-
der'd,

To raise him with choice bounties, that could add

Height to his height; and like a liberal vine,

Not only bear his virtuous fruit aloft, Free from the press of squint-eyed Envy's feet,

But deck his gracious prop with golden bunches,

And shroud it with broad leaves of rule o'ergrown

From all black tempests of invasion.

Those conquests that like general earthquakes shook

The solid world, and made it fall before them,

Built all their brave attempts on weaker grounds

And less persuasive likelihoods than this; Nor was there ever princely fount so long Pour'd forth a sea of rule with so free

So let thy sovereign Empire be increased, And with Iberian Neptune part the stake, Whose trident he the triple world would make.

You then that would be wise in wisdom's spite,

Directing with discredit of direction, And hunt for honour, hunting him to death;

With whom before you will inherit gold, You will lose gold, for which you lose your souls;

You that choose nought for right, but certainty,

And fear that value will get only blows,
Placing your faith in Incredulity;
Sit till you see a wonder, Virtue rich;
Till Honour having gold, rob gold of
honour,

Till as men have desert that getteth nought, They loathe all getting that deserves not aught;

And use you gold-made men as dregs of

men;

And till your poison'd souls, like spiders lurking,

In sluttish chinks, in mists of cobwebs hide

Your foggy bodies, and your dunghill pride.

O Incredulity! the wit of fools,

That slovenly will spit on all things fair, The coward's castle, and the sluggard's cradle,

How easy 'tis to be an infidel!

But you patrician spirits that refine
Your flesh to fire, and issue like a flame
On brave endeavours, knowing that in
them

The tract of heaven in morn-like glory opens,

That know you cannot be the kings of earth,

Claiming the rights of your creation,
And let the mines of earth be kings of

you;

That are so far from doubting likely drifts,

That in things hardest y'are most confident. You that know death lives where power lives unused,

Joying to shine in waves that bury you, And so make way for life even through your graves;

That will not be content like horse to hold A threadbare beaten way to home affairs;

But where the sea in envy of your reign, Closeth her womb as fast as 'tis disclosed, That she like avarice might swallow all, And let none find right passage through her rage;

There your wise souls, as swift as Eurus lead,

Your bodies through, to profit and renown, And scorn to let your bodies choke your souls

In the rude breath and prison'd life of beasts;

You that herein renounce the course of earth,

And lift your eyes for guidance to the stars,
That live not for yourselves, but to possess
Your honour'd country of a general store;
In pity of the spoil rude self-love makes
Of them whose lives and yours one air
doth feed,

One soil doth nourish, and one strength combine;

You that are blest with sense of all things noble,

In this attempt your complete worths redouble.

But how is Nature at her heart corrupted, (I mean even in her most ennobled birth) How in excess of sense is sense bereft her! That her most lightning-like effects of lust Wound through her flesh, her soul, her flesh unwounded;

And she must need incitements to her good,

Even from that part she hurts. O! how most like

Art thou, heroic author of this act,

To this wrong'd soul of nature; that sustain'st

Pain, charge, and peril for thy country's good,

And she, much like a body numb'd with surfeits,

Feels not thy gentle applications,

For the health, use, and honour of her

powers.

Yet shall my verse through all her easelock'd ears,

Trumpet the noblesse of thy high intent,
And if it cannot into act proceed,
The fault and bitter penance of the fault,
Make red some other's eyes with peni-

tence,

For thine are clear; and what more nimble spirits

Apter to bite at such unhooked baits, Gain by our loss; that must we needs confess,

His bating colours English valour swarms,
In haste, as if Guianian Orenoque
With his fell waters fell upon our shore.
And now a wind as forward as their
spirits

Sets their glad feet on smooth Guiana's breast,

Where, as if each man were an Orpheus, A world of savages fall tame before them, Storing their theft-frée treasuries with gold; And there doth plenty crown their wealthy fields,

There Learning eats no more his thriftless books,

Nor Valour, estridge-like, his iron arms. There Beauty is no strumpet for her wants, Nor Gallic humours putrefy her blood; But all our youth take Hymen's lights in hand,

And fill each roof with honour'd progeny ; There makes society adamantine chains, And joins their hearts with wealth whom wealth disjoin'd.

There healthful recreations strow their meads,

And make their mansions dance with neighbourhood,

That here were drown'd in churlish avarice.
And there do palaces and temples rise
Out of the earth, and kiss the enamour'd
skies,

Where new Britannia humbly kneels to heaven,

The world to her, and both at her blest

What learned fields pay not their flowers

t' adorn

Your odorous wreath? Compact, put on, and worn

By apt and adamantine industry,
Proposing still demonstrate verity

For your great object, far from plodding gain,

Or thirst of glory; when, absurd and vain, Most students in their whole instruction

are,

But in traditions more particular;
Leaning like rotten houses, on out beams,
And with true light fade in themselves
like dreams.

True learning hath a body absolute,
That in apparent sense itself can suit,
Not hid in airy terms, as if it were
Like spirits fantastic, that put men in fear,
And are but bugs form'd in their foul con-
ceits,

Nor made for sale, glazed with sophistic sleights,

But wrought for all times proof, strong to bid prease

And shiver ignorants, like Hercules,

On their own dung-hills; but our formal clerks,

Blown for profession, spend their souls in sparks,

Framed of dismember'd parts that make most show,

And like to broken limbs of knowledge go, When thy true wisdom by thy learning

won,

Shall honour learning while there shines a

sun;

And thine own name in merit, far above Their tympanies of state, that arms of love, Fortune, or blood shall lift to dignity; Whom though you reverence and your empery

Of spirit and soul, be servitude they think And but a beam of light broke through a chink

To all their waterish splendour; and much

more

To the great sun, and all things they adore,

In staring ignorance; yet your self shall shine

Above all this in knowledge most divine, And all shall homage to your true worth

owe,

You comprehending all, that all, not you. And when thy writings that now Error's night

Chokes earth with mists, break forth like eastern light,

Showing to every comprehensive eye
High sectious brawls becalm'd by unity,
Nature made all transparent, and her
heart

Gript in thy hand, crushing digested Art
In flames unmeasured, measured out of it,
On whose head for a crown thy soul shall
sit,

Crown'd with heaven's inward brightness showing clear

What true man is, and how like gnats appear,

O fortune-glossed pompists, and proud misers,

That are of arts such impudent despisers; Then past anticipating dooms and scorns, Which for self-grace each ignorant suborns, Their glowing and amazed eyes shall see How short of thy soul's strength my weak words be;

And that I do not like our poets prefer For profit, praise, and keep a squeaking stir

With call'd-on muses to unchild their brains

Of wind and vapour : lying still in pains
Of worthy issue; but as one profess'd
In nought but truth's dear love the soul's
true rest.

Continue then your sweet judicial kind