To his respected Friend, the Author.
Could I but reach Bayes from Apollo’s Tree,
I’d make a Wreath to Crown thy Work and Thee;
Which yet is needless, now I think upon’t;
Thy own great Pen deservedly hath don’t.
Of all who write of Thee, this is my Vogue,
None ere writ better of, and is less Rogue.
W. W.
