Gentles, whose favour[s] have o’erspread this place,
And shed the real influence of grace
On harmless mirth, we thank you; for our hope
Attracts such vigour and unmeasur’d scope
From the reflecting splendour of your eyes,
That, grace presum’d, fear in oblivion dies.
Your judgment, as it is the touch
[440] and trier
Of good from bad, so from your hearts comes fire,
That gives both ardour to the wit refin’d,
And sweetness [to] th’ incense of each willing mind.
O may that fire ne’er die! nor let your favours
Depart from us: give countenance to their labours
Propos’d a sacrifice, which may no less
Their strong desires than our true zeals express.