To his friend and Companion Mr H. N

Wit's all the younger sons inheritance,
A small estate, which cannot much advance:
Virgil may talk of Bees, and dunging land,
But 'tis the Heir that has them in his hand:
To him th'indulgent father all doth give,
While they alas have nought wherewith to live
But what Dame Nature, like a careful mother,
Laid up, and said 'twas for a younger brother.
A store of Wit, heav'n knowes 'tis all she gave,
And yet you're rich enough, while this you have.
A Fico for thy brothers lands! thou'ast more
In Mount Pernassus, than is all his store:
There with Apollo thou maist sit and dine
With heav'nly Nectar, sup with th'Muses nine;
The lustie Gods and Goddesses wil be
With all the Graces there in companie:
There we have fields to walk in; oh what fine
Mirth there is in good company and wine!
Lastly to make you fully happy, Beie;
Will meet i'th' arbour; oh shee's wondrous prettie!
Now tel me friend, is not this better sport,
Than to have money, and no pleasure for't?