When religion doth with virtue join, it makes a hero like an angel shine.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.
Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.
Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.
So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.
Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.