Love not where still thou maist; love who loves thee;
strike the same note as that of Wither’s spirited song:—
Shall I wasting in despair,
Die because a woman’s fair?
. . . . . .
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?
To Drayton, as his “Honor’d Friend,” Browne addressed some verses introductory to the second part of the Polyolbion. Regretting the loss to letters when great Eliza died, with Chapman’s Homer in mind, he boasts that we can still render the classics into English without loss:—
Whilst our full language, musical and high,
Speaks, as themselves, their best of Poesy.