To him that great prerogative resign,
Who the sun's height can raise at pleasure higher,
His lamp illumine, set his flames on fire.
Yet still one bliss, one glory, I forbear,
A darling friend whom near your heart you wear;
That lovely youth, my lord, whom you must blame,
That I grow thus familiar with your name.
He's friendly, open, in his conduct nice,
Nor serve these virtues to atone for vice:
Vice has he none, or such as none wish less,