To shew them the faire paths to our delights.
[23] To the Right Honourable, my very good Lord Henry Lord M.
To a Tombe.
Tyrant o're tyrants, thou who onely dost
Clip the lascivious beauty without lust;
What horror at thy sight shootes through each sence;
How powerfull is thy silent eloquence,
Which never flatters? Thou instruct'st the proud,
That their swolne pompe is but an empty cloud,