Epigram 87. To my Noble Cousin Mr. Henry Hastings of Branston

Sir, since our first acquaintance, ever through
Our Friendship with the Noble Loughborough,
What tumults have we seen, and dangers past,
Such as in graves have many thousands cast!
And yet we live (thanks to the Powers Divine)
And love, I thank your Friendship gracing mine.
I needes must say such troubles disagree
Both with my Genius as well as me.
Though Poets often sing of Wars, and with
A mighty verse an Eccho seem to give
To the shrill Trumpet, or the loudest Gun
That thunder rores, and spreads destruction;
Yet in a sweet retreat from care and noise,
They draw those lines that make those Sympathies;
And though I am no Poet, I confess
I am enamour'd much of Quietness.