Since perfect happiness, by Princes sought, Is not with birth born, nor exchequers bought, Nor follows in great trains, nor is possest With any outward state, but makes him blest That governs inward, and beholdeth there All his affections stand about him bare, That by his pow’r can send to Tower and death All traitorous passions, marshalling beneath His justice his mere will, and in his mind Holds such a sceptre as can keep confin’d His whole life’s actions in the royal bounds Of virtue and religion, and their grounds Takes in to sow his honours, his delights, And cómplete empire; you should learn these rights, Great Prince of men, by princely precedents, Which here, in all kinds, my true zeal presents To furnish your youth’s groundwork and first state, And let you see one godlike man create All sorts of worthiest men, to be contriv’d In your worth only, giving him reviv’d For whose life Alexander would have giv’n One of his kingdoms; who (as sent from heav’n, And thinking well that so divine a creature Would never more enrich the race of nature) Kept as his crown his works, and thought them still His angels, in all pow’r to rule his will; And would affirm that Homer’s poesy Did more advance his Asian victory, Than all his armies. O! ’tis wond’rous much, Though nothing priz’d, that the right virtuous touch Of a well-written soul to virtue moves; Nor have we souls to purpose, if their loves Of fitting objects be not so inflam’d. How much then were this kingdom’s main soul maim’d, To want this great inflamer of all pow’rs That move in human souls! All realms but yours Are honour’d with him, and hold blest that state That have his works to read and contemplate: In which humanity to her height is rais’d, Which all the world, yet none enough, hath prais’d; Seas, earth, and heav’n, he did in verse comprise, Out-sung the Muses, and did equalize Their king Apollo; being so far from cause Of Princes’ light thoughts, that their gravest laws May find stuff to be fashion’d by his lines. Through all the pomp of kingdoms still he shines, And graceth all his gracers. Then let lie Your lutes and viols, and more loftily Make the heroics of your Homer sung, To drums and trumpets set his angel’s tongue, And, with the princely sport of hawks you use, Behold the kingly flight of his high muse, And see how, like the phœnix, she renews Her age and starry feathers in your sun, Thousands of years attending ev’ry one Blowing the holy fire, and throwing in Their seasons, kingdoms, nations, that have been Subverted in them; laws, religions, all Offer’d to change and greedy funeral; Yet still your Homer, lasting, living, reigning, And proves how firm truth builds in poet’s feigning.