To His Friend The Author, John Hoddesdon, On His Divine Epigrams.

    Thou hast inspired me with thy soul, and I
    Who ne'er before could ken of poetry,
    Am grown so good proficient, I can lend
    A line in commendation of my friend.
    Yet 'tis but of the second hand; if ought
    There be in this, 'tis from thy fancy brought.
    Good thief, who dar'st, Prometheus-like, aspire,
    And fill thy poems with celestial fire:
    Enliven'd by these sparks divine, their rays
    Add a bright lustre to thy crown of bays.
    Young eaglet, who thy nest thus soon forsook,
    So lofty and divine a course hast took
    As all admire, before the down begin
    To peep, as yet, upon thy smoother chin;
    And, making heaven thy aim, hast had the grace
    To look the Sun of righteousness i' the face.
    What may we hope, if thou go'st on thus fast,
    Scriptures at first; enthusiasms at last!
    Thou hast commenced, betimes, a saint; go on,
    Mingling diviner streams with Helicon;
    That they who view what epigrams here be,
    May learn to make like, in just praise of thee.

        Reader, I've done, nor longer will withhold
    Thy greedy eyes; looking on this pure gold
    Thou'lt know adulterate copper, which, like this,
    Will only serve to be a foil to his.