For brave comportment, wit without offence, Words fully flowing, yet of influence, Thou art that man of men, the man alone Worthy the public admiration; Who with thine own eyes read'st what we do write, And giv'st our numbers euphony and weight; Tell'st when a verse springs high; how understood To be, or not, born of the royal blood What state above, what symmetry below, Lines have, or should have, thou the best can show:— For which, my Charles, it is my pride to be, Not so much known, as to be loved of thee:— Long may I live so, and my wreath of bays Be less another's laurel, than thy praise.
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