William Bosworth Poems

Near to the Caspian streights, where Dolphins sing,
Hippobatos, a verdant Meadow lay,
Along which Meadow ran a silver Spring,
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To Mr. John Emely upon his Travells

Have other Nations got that tempting art?
Or Seas? (O thou the second of my heart)
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Reader,

My Author vow'd to prattle forth his Loves,
And fill the azure skyes with watry clouds:
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Her tongue hath ceast to speak, which might make dumb
All tongues, might stay all Pens, al hands benum;
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Why should my pen aspire so high a strain,
A verse to guide, to guide a verse unfit?
Are they the fittest voices to complain?
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