Classic Poem

Of Edwards of the Chapel.

Divine Camenes, that with your sacred food
Have fed and fostered up from tender years
A happy man that in your favour stood,
Edwards, in Court that cannot find his feres,
Your names be blest, that in this present age
So fine a head by art have framed out,
Whom some hereafter, helped by poet's rage,
Perchance may match, but none shall pass (no doubt).
O Plautus, if thou wert alive again,
That comedies so finely didst indite,
Or Terence, thou that with thy pleasant brain
The hearer's mind on stage didst much delight,
What would you say, sirs, if you should behold
As I have done, the doings of this man?
No word at all, to swear I durst be bold,
But burn with tears that which with mirth began,
I mean your books, by which you gat your name,
To be forgot, you would commit to flame.
Alas, I would, Edwards, more tell thy praise,
But at thy name my muse amazed stays.