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. A Funeral Elegy on the Death of the Lady Penelope Clifton
2. In Laudem Authoris
3. Upon the Silent Woman
4. Lay a Garland on My Hearse
5. The Examination of His Mistress's Perfections

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