Hymne XXVI: To Enuie

Enuie go weepe, my Muse and I
Laugh thee to scorne; thy feeble Eye
Is dazled with the glorie
Shining in this gay poesie,
And litle golden Storie.

Behold how my proud quil doth shed
Eternall Nectar on her head:
The pompe of Coronation
Hath not such power her fame to spread,
As this my admiration.

Respect my Pen as free and franke,
Expecting not Reward nor Thanke;
Great wonder onely moues it;
I neuer made it mercenary;
Nor should my Muse this burthen carie
As hyr'd, but that she loues it.