Yet where the faults but whisper, use thy pen
With the quod non vis of the heathen men;
And, if the crimes do in loud echoes speak,
60Thy sponge; but not with lashing satires break
That sacred bond of friendship, for 't may be
I may hereafter do as much for thee.
Nor do thou think to trample on my muse;
Nor in thy lofty third-air braves accuse
My breast of faintness, or the ballad-whine.
For know my heart is full as big as thine,