Page:Madagascar, with other poems - Davenant (1638).djvu/74

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Excus'd: Th'excessive charge of Ink, and Oyle,Expence of quiet sleepes, and the vaine toyle,In which the Priest of Smyrna tooke delight,(When he for knowledge chang'd his precious sight)Had scap'd me then; now whilst I strive to pleaseWith tedious Art, I lose the lust of ease.And when our Poets (enviously miss-led)Shall finde themselves out-written, and out-read;T'will urge their sorrow too, that thou didst giveTo my weake Numbers, strength, and joy to live. But O! uneasie thoughts! what will becomeOf me, when thou retir'st into a Tombe?The Cruell, and the Envious then will say,Since now his Lord is dead; he that did swayOur publique smiles, opinion, and our praise,Till wee this Childe of Poesie did raiseTo Fame, and love; let's drowne him in our Inke;Where like a lost dull Plummet let him sinkeFrom humane sight; from knowledge he was borne;Unlesse Succession finde him in our scorne.Remembrance, never to Repentance showes,The wealth wee gaine, but what wee feare to lose;

Thou

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