Gentles, whose favour 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 and trier
Of good from bad, so from your hearts comes fire,
That gives both ardour to the wit refin’d,
And [sweetens] 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.
Exeunt.