To Clement Edmonds, on his Caesar's Commentaries, Observed and Translated

Not Caesar's deeds, nor all his honours won,
In these west parts, nor, when that war was done,
The name of Pompey for an enemy,
Cato's to boot; Rome, and her liberty,
All yielding to his fortune, nor, the while,
To have engraved these acts with his own style,
And that so strong and deep, as't might be thought
He wrote with the same spirit that he fought;
Nor that his work lived in the hands of foes,
Unargued then, and yet hath fame from those;
Not all these, Edmonds, or what else put to,
Can so speak Caesar, as thy labours do.
For where his person lived scarce one just age,
And that midst envy and parts; then fell by rage:
His deeds too dying, but in books, whose good
How few have read! how fewer understood!
Thy learned hand and true Promethean art,
As by a new creation, part by part,
In every counsel, stratagem, design,
Action, or engine, worth a note of thine,
To all future time not only doth restore
His life, but makes, that he can die no more.