i

Oft has my muse and I fall'n out,
And I as oft have banish'd her my brest
But such alas, still were her intrest,
And skill to bring her purposes about,
So cuning too, in sly insinuation,
That she soon gain'd her wish'd for restoration.
But when I found this wou'd not do,
A vio'lent death I put her too,
But see my friend, how your all powerfull pen
(O miracle!) has rais'd her from the dead again

ii

And now alas what can she do
or speak or shew
How very much she is oblig'd to you,
For where the boon's so great, it were a rude
Presumption, to pretend to gratitude,
And a mad project to pretend to give
To you from whom she doe's her all receive;
But if she traffick on your stock and thrive,
Tis fit how e'er the principal be spent
To pay the intrest of acknowledgment.

iii

And with her, I must acknowledge too,
The honour which to me you do.
Though I unworthy am of it,
Not but your Judgment knows well how to chuse,
A fitter subject than me or my muse
T'imploy your superfluity of wit,
But that your goodness over all precides,
And nobly in triumph rides
Whilst other vertues marche in troops behind.
Friendship do's the chariot guid,
Which may perhaps run too much of one side
Friendship as well as love sometimes is blind,
And that she may be always so,
My praiers shall ever tend,
Cause I no other title have to show,
Or tenure to the love of any friend.