To empty air[349] may go my fearful speech.
With sceptres and high buskins th' one would dress me,
So through the world should bright renown express me.
The other gives my love a conquering name;
Come, therefore, and to long verse shorter frame.
Grant, Tragedy, thy poet time's least tittle:
Thy labour ever lasts; she asks but little."
She gave me leave; soft loves, in time make haste;
Some greater work will urge me on at last.70