To M[r]. S[amuel] B[rooke]

O THOU which to search out the secret parts

Of the India, or rather Paradise

Of knowledge, hast with courage and advice

Lately launch’d into the vast sea of arts;

Disdain not in thy constant travelling

To do as other voyagers, and make

Some turns into less creeks, and wisely take

Fresh water at the Heliconian spring.

I sing not, siren-like, to tempt, for I

Am harsh; nor as those schismatics with you,

Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew;

But seeing in you bright sparks of poetry,

I, though I brought no fuel, had desire

With these articulate blasts to blow the fire.