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Poem	XIV. — ODE TO SIR WILLIAM SIDNEY, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. Some sing, And all do strive to advance The gladness higher; Wherefore should I Stand silent by, Who not the least, That I may tell to SIDNEY what This day Doth say, And he may think on that Which I do tell; When all the noise Of these forced joys, Are fled and gone, Are justly summ'd, that make you man; Your vow Must now Strive all right ways it can, T' outstrip your peers : Since he doth lack Of going back Little, whose will Of nobles' virtue, shew in you ; Your blood So good And great, must seek for new, And study more : Not weary, rest On what's deceas't. For they, that swell Whose nephew, whose grandchild you are ; And men Will then Say you have follow'd far, When well begun : Which must be now, They teach you how, And he that stays If with this truth you be inspired ; So may This day Be more, and long desired ;And with the flame Of love be bright, As with the light Of bonfires ! then And some do drink, and some do dance, Some ring, Some sing, And all do strive to advance The gladness higher; Wherefore should I Stand silent by, Who not the least,
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