If I dare write to You, my Lord, who are, Of your own selfe, a Publick Theater. And sitting, see the wiles, wayes, walks of wit, And give a righteous judgement upon it. What need I care, though some dislike me sho'd, If Dorset say, what Herrick writes, is good? We know y'are learn'd i'th' Muses, and no lesse In our State-sanctions, deep, or bottomlesse. Whose smile can make a Poet; and your glance Dash all bad Poems out of countenance. So, that an Author needs no other Bayes For Coronation, then Your onely Praise. And no one mischief greater then your frown, To null his Numbers, and to blast his Crowne. Few live the life immortall. He ensures His Fame's long life, who strives to set up Yours. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANOTHER GRACE FOR A CHILD by ROBERT HERRICK A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 52 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH by RICHARD HENRY STODDARD STELLA AND FLAVIA by MARY BARBER THE TWO ARCHERS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES RUE DU BOIS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THAT GRAY, COLD CHRISTMAS DAY (DECEMBER 25, 1620) by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH |