Classic Poem

Thou beeing brother to my best belou'd,
I must for that and for thyselfe beside,
Ranck thee among more honor'd friends (approu'd)
Wherein I range the powre of all my pride.
Yee brothers were within your mothers wombe
Made Muses minions; for from thence ye drew
Pure Helicon to that yet emptie roome
Your braine pan, filled with arte, ere arte ye knew.
There virtually ye both rare poets were,
Here actually ye rarely shew the same:
That's seld, but bright; as that starre did appeare
To light the wise to finde out Wisdom's ame.
Then sith the lawrell's yours by right of birth,
My Muse must lawrel-crowne your fames on Earth.