Page:Madagascar, with other poems - Davenant (1638).djvu/135

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Such, as might be prescrib'd the Earth, to drinkeFor cure of her old Curse; Teares, you would thinkeToo rich to water (if you knew their price)The chiefest Plant deriv'd from Paradise.But O! where is a Poets faith? how farreWe are miss-led? how false we Lords of Numbers are?Our Love, is passion, our Religion, rage!Since, to secure that mighty heritageEntail'd upon the Bay, see, how I striveTo keepe the glory of your looks alive;And to perswade your gloomy Sorrows thence;As subt'ly knowing, your kind influenceIs all the pretious Stock, left us t'inspire,And feed the flame, of our eternall fire.But I recant: 'Tis fit you mourne a while,And winke, untill you darken all this Isle;More fit, the Bay should wither too, and beQuite lost, than he depriv'd your obsequie:He that was once your Lord; who strove to getThat title, cause nought else, could make him great;A stile, by which his name he did preferreTo have a day, i'th Poets Kalender.

His

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