What planet rul'd your birth? what witty star?
That you so like in souls as bodies are!
So like in both, that you seem born to free
The starry art from vulgar calumny.
My doubts are solv'd, from hence my faith begins,
Not only your faces but your wits are twins.
When this bright Gemini shall from Earth ascend,
They will new light to dull-ey'd mankind lend,
Teach the star-gazers, and delight their eyes,
Being fix'd a constellation in the skies.
T. Powell, Oxoniensis.
TO MY FRIEND THE AUTHOR UPON THESE HIS POEMS.
I call'd it once my sloth: in such an age
So many volumes deep, I not a page?
But I recant, and vow 'twas thrifty care
That kept my pen from spending on slight ware,
And breath'd it for a prize, whose pow'rful shine
Doth both reward the striver, and refine.
Such are thy poems, friend: for since th' hast writ,
I can't reply to any name, but wit;
And lest amidst the throng that make us groan,
Mine prove a groundless heresy alone,
Thus I dispute, Hath there not rev'rence been
Paid to the beard at door, for Lord within?
Who notes the spindle-leg or hollow eye
Of the thin usher, the fair lady by?
Thus I sin freely, neighbour to a hand
Which, while I aim to strengthen, gives command
For my protection; and thou art to me
At once my subject and security.
I. Rowlandson, Oxoniensis.