Where little ground to be enclosed befalls,
"How such a poet could you bring forth?" says:
"How small soe'er, I'll you for greatest praise."
Both loves, to whom my heart long time did yield,[453]
Your golden ensigns pluck[454] out of my field.
Horned Bacchus graver fury doth distil,
A greater ground with great horse is to till.
Weak Elegies, delightful Muse, farewell;
A work that, after my death, here shall dwell.20