Epigram 16. To my Uncle Sir John Stanhope, an Acrostick

Sir, to be silent unto you, would be
I magin'd ill by you, thought worse by me;
R eason I have to write, and therefore will:

I cannot with my thoughts sit and be still.
O ver and over let me search my heart,
H ere you, and there I find in every part.
N o man was ever to another bound

S o much as I to you; for you have found
(T o make your self more matchless) such new
A s the Invention would extort a praise. (wayes,
N ature was kind to me, and I do bless
H er care, to give me such an happiness.
O nely t'have been your friend had been a fate,
P roud to have made me ever: but my State
E xceedes; I am your Nephew, and you do

Increase my joy, and make me your friend too.
Shall I be silent then? I can as well
Make my self worthy as refrain to tell.
You are my wonder; every word you speak
Vice trembles at, and thinks that she shall break.
No stop hath vertue, but you do remove,
Casting the same away out of your love.
Live long, and glory in your worth: for you
Equal your will, exceed what others do.