Lord BACONS Birth-day.
|The fire, the wine, the men! and in the midst,|
Thou stand'st as if some Mysterie thou did'st!
Pardon, I read it in thy face, the day
For whose returnes, and many, all these pray:
And so doe I. This is the sixtieth yeare
Since Bacon, and thy Lord was borne, and here;
Sonne to the grave wise Keeper of the Seale,
Fame, and foundation of the English Weale.
What then his Father was, that since is hee,
Now with a Title more to the Degree;
Englands high Chancellor: the destin'd heire
In his soft Cradle to his Fathers Chaire,
Whose even Thred the Fates spinne round, and full,
Out of their Choysest, and their whitest wooll.
'Tis a brave cause of joy, let it be knowne,
For 't were a narrow gladnesse, kept thine owne.
Give me a deep-crown'd-Bowle, that I may sing
In raysing him the wisdome of my King.
[@ Jonson, Under-Woods (Herford 225)]