But stay my Muse in thine owne confines keepe,
And wage not warre with so deere lou'd a neighbor,
But hauing sung thy day song, rest and sleepe,
Preserue thy small fame and his greater fauor:
His song was worthie merrit (Shakspeare hee)
Sung the faire blossome, thou the withered tree:
Lawrell is due to him, his art and wit
Hath purchas'd it, Cypres thy brow will fit.