An Epistle to Master John Selden

I know to whom I write; here, I am sure,
Though I be short, I cannot be obscure:
Less shall I for the art or dressing care,
Truth and the Graces best when naked are.
Your book, my Selden, I have read; and much
Was trusted, that you thought my judgment such
To ask it: though, in most of works, it be
A penance where a man may not be free,
Rather than office; when it doth, or may
Chance, that the friend's affection proves allay
Unto the censure. Your's all need doth fly
Of this so vicious humanity;
Than which, there is not unto study a more
Pernicious enemy. We see before
A many' of books, even good judgments wound
Themselves, through favouring that is there not found;
But I to your's far otherwise shall do,
Not fly the crime, but the suspicion too:
Though I confess (as every muse hath err'd,
And mine not least) I have too oft preferr'd
Men past their terms, and prais'd some names too much;
But 'twas with purpose to have made them such.
Since, being deceiv'd, I turn a sharper eye
Upon myself, and ask to whom, and why,
And what I write? and vex it many days
Before men get a verse, much less a praise;
So that my reader is assured, I now
Mean what I speak, and still will keep that vow.
Stand forth my object, then. You that have been
Ever at home, yet have all countries seen;
And like a compass, keeping one foot still
Upon your centre, do your circle fill
Of general knowledge; watch'd men, manners too,
Heard what times past have said, seen what ours do!
Which grace shall I make love to first? your skill,
Or faith in things? or is't your wealth and will
T' inform and teach? or your unwearied pain
Of gathering? bounty in pouring out again?
What fables have you vex'd, what truth redeem'd,
Antiquities search'd, opinions disesteem'd,
Impostures branded, and authorities urg'd!
What blots and errors have you watch'd and purg'd
Records and authors of! how rectified
Times, manners, customs! innovations spied!
Sought out the fountains, sources, creeks, paths, ways,
And noted the beginnings and decays!
Where is that nominal mark, or real rite,
Form, act, or ensign, that hath scaped your sight?
How are traditions there examin'd! how
Conjectures retriev'd! and a story now
And then of times (besides the bare conduct
Of what it tells us) weav'd in to instruct!
I wonder'd at the richness, but am lost,
To see the workmanship so' exceed the cost!
To mark the excellent seasoning of your style,
And manly elocution! not one while
With horror rough, then rioting with wit;
But to the subject still the colours fit,
In sharpness of all search, wisdom of choice,
Newness of sense, antiquity of voice!
I yield, I yield. The matter of your praise
Flows in upon me, and I cannot raise
A bank against it: nothing but the round
Large clasp of Nature such a wit can bound.
Monarch in letters! 'mongst the Titles shown
Of others honours, thus enjoy thy own.
I first salute thee so; and gratulate
With that thy style, thy keeping of thy state;
In offering this thy work to no great name,
That would, perhaps, have praised and thank'd the same,
But nought beyond. He, thou hast given it to,
Thy learned chamber-fellow, knows to do
It true respects: he will not only love,
Embrace, and cherish; but he can approve
And estimate thy pains, as having wrought
In the same mines of knowledge; and thence brought
Humanity enough to be a friend,
And strength to be a champion, and defend
Thy gift 'gainst envy. O how I do count
Among my comings in, and see it mount,
The gain of two such friendships! Heyward and
Selden! two names that so much understand!
On whom I could take up, and ne'er abuse
The credit, that would furnish a tenth muse!
But here's no time nor place my wealth to tell,
You both are modest. So am I. Farewell.