We cannot (Lynceus-like) see through the wall
20Of your strong-mortar'd Poems; nor can all
The small shot of our brains make one hole in
The bulwark of your book, that fort to win.
Open your meaning's door, O do not lock it!
Undo the buttons of your smaller pocket,
And charitably spend those angels there,
Let them enrich and actuate our sphere.
Take off our bongraces, and shine upon us,
Though your resplendent beams should chance to tan us.