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HEERE Virtue standes, and doth impart a scroule
To living fame, to publish farre and neere
The man whose name, she did within enroule
And kept to view, vnseene this many yeare
That erst me thought, she seemed to envie
The world his worth, his fame, and memorie
But sine he sees, the Muse is lest forlorne
And fortune fawning, on the worthles wight
And eke her selfe, not cherisht as beforne
She bringes Moecenas once againe to light
The man (if any else) a frend to Artes
And good rewarder, of all best desertes.