Poem by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester

The Acquittance

Not knowing who should my Acquittance take,
I know as little what discharge to make.
The favour is so great, that it out-goes
All forms of thankfulness I can propose,
Those grateful levies which my pen would raise,
Are stricken dumb, or bury'd in amaze.
Therefore, as once in Athens there was shown
An Altar built unto the God unknown,
My ignorant devotions must by guess
This blind return of gratitude address,
Till You vouchsafe to shew me where and how
I may to this revealed Goddess bow. 

1. Tell Me No More How Fair She Is
2. The Forfeiture
3. To My Sister Anne King, Who Chid Me In Verse For Being Angry
4. The Boyes Answer To The Blackmoor
5. Another Of The Same, Paraphrased For An Antheme

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