But I grow tedious, and my love abus'd,
Disturbs my thoughts and makes my lines confus'd;

Yet pardon me, and deign a gracious eye

On this my rude unfil'd apology.

Let not the bluntness of my phrase offend :
Weigh but the matter, and not how 'tis penn'd.
By these abrupt lines in my just defence,

Judge what I might say for my innocence;
And think, I more could speak, that here I spare,
Because my power suits not to what I dare.
My unaffected stile retains (you see)
Her old frieze-cloak of young rusticity.
If others will use neater terms, they may:
Ruder I am, yet love as well as they;

And (though if I would smooth't, I cannot do't)
My humble heart I bend beneath thy foot,'
While here my muse her discontent doth sing
To thee, her great Apollo, and my King.
Imploring thee by that high sacred name,
By justice, by those pow'rs that I could name,
By whatsoe'er may move, entreat I thee
To be what thou art unto all, to me.

I fear it not, yet give me leave to pray,

may

have foes whose power doth bear such sway; If they but say, I'm guilty of offence,

'Twere vain for me to plead my innocence.

But as the name of God thou bear'st, I trust Thou imitat'st him too, in being just;

That when the right of truth thou com'st to scan,
Thou❜lt not respect the person of the man;

For if thou do, then is my hope undone,
The head-long way to ruin I must run.

For whilst that they have all the helps, which may
Procure their pleasure with my soon decay,
How is it like, that I my peace can win me,

When all the aid I have, comes from within me ?
Therefore, good King! that mak'st thy bounty shine,
Sometime on those whose worths are small as mine,
Oh save me now from envy's dangerous shelf,
Or make me able, and I'll save myself.

Let not the want of that make me a scorn,

To which there are more fools than wise-men born. Let me not for my meanness be despis'd,

Nor others' greatness make their words more priz'd;
For whatsoe❜er my outward fate appears,

My soul's as good, my heart as great as their's;
My love unto my country and to thee,

As much as his that more would seem to be;

And would this age allow, but means to shew it,
Those, that misdoubt it, should ere long time know it.
Pity my youth then, and let me not lie
Wasting my time in fruitless misery.

Though I am mean, I may be born unto
That service which another cannot do.

In vain the little mouse the lion spar'd not:
She did him pleasure, when a greater dar'd not.
If ought, that I have done, do thee displease,
Thy misconceived wrath I will appease,

Or sacrifice my heart; but why should I
Suffer for God knows whom, I know not why?
If that my words through some mistake offend,
Let them conceive them right and make amend;
Or were I guilty of offence indeed,

One fault (they say) doth but one pardon need,
Yet one I had, and now I want one more;
For once I stood accus'd for this before:
As I remember, I so long agone

Sung Thame and Rhine's Epithalamion ;*
When she that from thy royal self derives,
Those gracious virtues that best title gives,
She that makes Rhine proud of her excellence,
And me oft mind her reverence,

Deign'd in her great good-nature to incline
Her gentle ear to such a cause as mine;
And which is more, vouchsaf'd her word to clear
Me from all dangers (if there any were);

Alluding to the marriage of the Prince Palatine of the Rhine to the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of James I. on which occasion Wither wrote an Epithalamion.

So that I do not now entreat, or sue
For any great boon or request that's new;
But only this (though absent from the land)
Her former favour still in force might stand,
And that her word (who, present, was so dear)
Might be as pow'rful, as when she was here.
Which if I find, and with thy favour may
Have leave to shake my loathed bands away,
(As I do hope I shall) and be set free
From all the troubles this hath brought on me,
I'll make her name give life unto a song,
Whose never-dying note shall last as long
As there is either river, grove or spring,
Or down for sheep, or shepherd's lad to sing;
Yea, I will teach my muse to touch a strain,
That was ne'er reach'd to yet by any swain;
For though that many deem my years unripe,
Yet I have learn'd to tune an oaten pipe
Whereon I'll try, what music I can make me,
Until Bellona with her trump awake me;
And since the world will not have Vice thus shewn,
By blazing Virtue I will make it known.

Then, if the Court will not my lines approve,
I'll go unto some mountain or thick grove;
There to my fellow-shepherds will I sing,
Tuning my reeds unto some dancing spring,
In such a note, that none should dare to trouble it,
Till the hills answer and the woods redouble it.

And peradventure I may then go near

To speak of something, thou'lt be pleas'd to hear,
And that which those, who now my tunes abhor,
Shall read, and like, and deign to love me for;
But the meanwhile, O pass not this suit by!
Let thy free hand sign me my liberty;
And if my love may move thee more to do,
Good King! consider this my trouble too.
Others have found thy favour in distress,
Whose love to thee and thine I think was less;
And I might fitter for thy service live,
On what would not be much for thee to give.
And yet I ask it, not for that I fear
The outward means of life should fail me here;
For though I want to compass those good ends,
I aim at for my country and my friends,
In this poor state I can as well content me,
As if that I had wealth and honours lent me :
Not for my own sake do I seek to shun
This thraldom, wherein now I seem undone ;
For though I prize my freedom more than gold,
And use the means to free myself from hold,
Yet with a mind, I hope, unchang'd and free,
Here can I live, and play with misery;
Yea, in despight of want and slavery,

Laugh at the world in all her bravery.