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For civil, clean, and circumcised wit, And for the comely carriage of it, Thou art the man, the only man best known, Mark'd for the true wit of a million: From whom we'll reckon. Wit came in but since The calculation of thy birth, brave Mince.

Fly me not, though I be grey: Lady, this I know you'll say; Better look the roses red When with white commingled. Black your hairs are, mine are white; This begets the more delight, When things meet most opposite: As in pictures we descry Venus standing Vulcan by.

If accusation only can draw blood, None shall be guiltless, be he ne'er so good.

As thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let The Muse give thee the Delphic coronet.