Come all ye Wits, that with immortal rhymes,
Glory to others, and yourselves, create:
And you that gratify the future times,
Whilst tales of Love and battles ye relate;
Come, turn your studies, and your eyes this way,
This theme will crown your heads with lasting bays,
'Tis Cynthia's beauty, Heavenly Cynthia;
Come swell your volumes all with Cynthia's praise.
Posterity will then your works admire,
And for her sake shall them as j**els prize,
All things to Cynthia's glory must conspire,
She shall be worshipp'd with the deities.
To her make foreign lands pay honours due,
Thus shall you live by her, and she by you.