To Sir William Jephson

Jephson, thou man of men, to whose lov'd name,
All gentry yet owe part of their best flame:
So did thy virtue inform, thy wit sustain
That age, when thou stood' st up the master-brain:
Thou wert the first mad'st merit know her strength,
And those that lack'd it, to suspect at length,
'Twas not entail'd on title: that some word
Might be found out as good, and not " my lord: "
That nature no such difference had imprest
In men, but every bravest was the best;
That blood not minds, but minds did blood adorn;
And to live great was better than great born.
These were thy knowing arts: which who doth now
Virtuously practise, must at least allow
Them in, if not from thee, or must commit
A desperate solœcism in truth and wit.