To the right Honourable Mildmay, Earle of Westmorland..

YOu are a Lord, an Earle, nay more, a Man,
Who writes sweet Numbers well as any can:
If so, why then are not These Verses hurld,
Like Sybels Leaves, throughout the ample world?
What is a Jewell if it be not set
Forth by a Ring, or some rich Carkanet?
But being so; then the beholders cry,
See, see a Jemme (as rare as Baelus eye.)
Then publick praise do's runne upon the Stone,
For a most rich, a rare, a precious One.
Expose your jewels then unto the view,
That we may praise Them, or themselves prize You.
Vertue conceal'd (with Horace you'l confesse)
Differs not much from drowzie slothfullnesse.