_Not in the silence of content and store Of private sweets ought thy Muse charme no more Then thy_ Castara's _eare. 'Twere wrong such gold Should not like Mines, (poore nam'd to this) behold It selfe a publike joy. Who her restraine, Make a close prisoner of a Soveraigne. Inlarge her then to triumph. While we see Such worth in beauty, such desert in thee, Such mutuall flames betweene you both, as show How chastity, though yce, like love can glow, Yet stand a Virgin: How that full content By vertue is to soules united, lent, Which proves all wealth is poore, all honours are But empty titles, highest power but care, That quits not cost. Yet Heaven to Vertue kind, Hath given you plenty to suffice a minde That knowes but temper. For beyond your state May be a prouder, not a happier Fate. I Write not this in hope t'incroach on fame, Or adde a greater lustre to your name. Bright in it selfe enough. We two are knowne To th' World, as to our selves, to be but one In blood as study: And my carefull love Did never action worth my name, approve Which serv'd not thee. Nor did we ere contend, But who should be best patterne of a friend. Who read thee, praise thy fancie, and admire Thee burning with so high and pure a fire, As reaches heaven it selfe. But I who know Thy soule religious to her ends, where grow No sinnes by art or custome, boldly can Stile thee more than good Poet, a good man. Then let thy temples shake off vulgar bayes, Th' hast built an Altar which enshrines thy praise: And to the faith of after time commends Yee the best paire of lovers, us of friends._ [4]GEORGE TALBOT. [3] _To his best friend and kinsman. On his_ CASTARA. 1634. [4] G. T. 1634. A Mistris