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TO MY NOBLE FRIEND THE AUTHOR, by                    
First Line: A perfect pen itself will ever praise
Last Line: A perfect poet that could place them so.
Subject(s): Browne, William (1591-1645)


A PERFECT pen itself will ever praise.
So pipes our shepherd in his roundelays,
That who could judge of Music's sweetest strain,
Would swear thy Muse were in a heavenly vein.
A work of worth shows what the workman is:
When as the fault that may be found amiss,
(To such at least as have judicious eyes)
Nor in the work, nor yet the workman lies.
Well worthy thou to wear the laurel wreath:
When from thy breast these blessed thoughts do breathe,
That in thy gracious lines such grace do give,
It makes thee everlastingly to live.
Thy words well couch'd, thy sweet invention show
A perfect poet that could place them so.





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