Poem by Francis Beaumont

To the True Patroness of All Poetry, Calliope

It is a statute in deep wisdom's lore,
That for his lines none should a patron chuse
By wealth and poverty, by less or more,
But who the same is able to peruse:
Nor ought a man his labour dedicate,
Without a true and sensible desert,
To any power of such a mighty state
But such a wise defendress as thou art
Thou great and powerful Muse, then pardon me
That I presume thy maiden cheek to stain
In dedicating such a work to thee,
Sprung from the issue of an idle brain:
 I use thee as a woman ought to be,
 I consecrate my idle hours to thee.

1. Ad Comitissam Rutlandiæ
2. To My Friend Mr. John Fletcher, upon His Faithful Sheperdess
3. In Laudem Authoris
4. Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben Jonson
5. A Funeral Elegy on the Death of the Lady Penelope Clifton

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