For though I seem a stranger, yet mine eye
Observes in thee the marks of courtesy ;
And if my judgment err not, noted too,
More than in those that more would seem to do.
Such virtues thy rare modesty doth hide,
Which by their proper lustre I espied;
And though long mask'd in silence they have been,
I have a wisdom through that silence seen;
Yea, I have learned knowledge from thy tongue,
And heard when thou hast in concealment sung;
Which me the bolder and more willing made
Thus to invite thee to this homely shade.
And though it may be, thou couldst never spy
Such worth in me, I might be known thereby ;
In thee I do; for here my neighbouring sheep
Upon the border of these downs I keep;
Where often thou at pastorals and plays
Hast grac'd our wakes on summer-holidays;
And many a time with thee at this cold spring
Met I, to hear your learned shepherds sing,
Saw them disporting in the shady groves,
And in chaste sonnets woo their chaster loves;
When I, endued with the meanest skill,
'Mongst others have been urg'd to use my quill;
But, 'cause but little cunning I had got,
Perhaps thou saw'st me, though thou knew'st me
Yes, Philarete! I know thee, and thy name; Nor is my knowledge grounded all on Fame. Art thou not he, that but this other year Scar'dst all the wolves and foxes in the shire, And in a match at foot-ball lately tried, Having scarce twenty Satyrs on thy side, Held'st play, and though assailed kept'st thy stand 'Gainst all the best-tried ruffians in the land? Didst thou not then in doleful Sonnets moan, When the beloved of great Pan was gone, And at the *wedding of fair Thame and Rhine, Sing of their glories to thy Valentine? I know it, and I must confess that long, In one thing I did do thy nature wrong; For, till I mark'd the aim thy Satyrs had, I thought them over-bold, and thee half mad. But, since I did more nearly on thee look, I soon perceiv'd that I all had mistook : I saw, that of a cynic thou mad'st show, Where since I find, that thou wert nothing so; And that of many thou much blame hadst got, When as thy innocency deserv'd it not.
*Wedding of fair Thame and Rhine. Alluding to his Epithalamia on the marriage of the Princess Elizabeth to the Elector Palatine.
But that too good opinion thou hast seem'd
To have of me, not so to be esteem'd,
Prevails not ought to stay him, who doth fear,
He rather should reproofs than praises hear.
"Tis true, I found thee plain and honest too,
Which made me like, then love, as now I do;
And, Phila! though a stranger, this to thee I'll say,
Where I do love, I am not coy, to stay.
Thanks, gentle swain, that dost so soon unfold,
What I to thee as gladly would have told,
And thus thy wonted courtesy exprest
In kindly entertaining this request!
Sure, I should injure much my own content,
Or wrong thy love, to stand on compliment,
Who hast acquaintance in one word begun,
As well as I could in an age have done;
Or by an over-weening slowness mar,
What thy more wisdom hath brought on so far.
Then sit thou down, and I'll my mind declare,
As freely as if we familiars were;
And if thou wilt but deign to give me ear,
Something thou may'st for thy more profit hear.
Philarete! I willingly obey.
Then know, Alexis! from that very day
When as I saw thee at thy shepherd's cote,
Where each, I think, of other took first note;
I mean that pastor, who by Tavy's springs
Chaste shepherds' loves in sweetest numbers sings,
And with his music, to his greater fame,
Hath late made proud the fairest nymphs of Thame;
E'en then, me thought, I did espy in thee
Some unperceiv'd and hidden worth to be;
Which in thy more apparent virtues shin'd;
And, among many, I in thought divin'd,
By something my conceit had understood,
That thou wert mark'd one of the Muse's brood.
That made me love thee; and that love I bear
Begot a pity, and that pity, care :
Pity I had to see good parts conceal'd,
Care I had how to have that good reveal'd;
Since 'tis a fault admitteth no excuse
To possess much, and yet put nought in use.
Hereon I vow'd, if we two ever met,
The first request, that I would strive to get,
Should be but this, that thou wouldst shew thy skill,
How thou couldst tune thy verses to thy quill,
And teach thy Muse in some well-framed song
To shew the art, thou hast supprest so long;
Which if my new acquaintance may obtain,
I will for ever honour this day's gain.
Alas! my small experience scarce can tell
So much, as where those nymphs, the Muses, dwell;
Nor, though my slow conceit still travels on,
Shall I e'er reach to drink of Helicon;
Or, if I might so favour'd be, to taste
What those sweet streams but overflow in waste,
And touch Parnassus where it low'st doth lie,
I fear my skill would hardly flag so high.
Despair not, man! the gods have prized nought So dear, that may not be with labour bought; Nor need thy pain be great, since Fate and Heaven, That, as a blessing, at thy birth have given.
Then use their gifts thou must,
Or be ungrateful, and so be unjust;
For if it cannot truly be denied,
Ingratitude men's benefits do hide,
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