Book 2, Epigram 4: Ad Henricum Wottonum.

Wotton, the country and the country swain, How can they yield a Poet any sense? How can they stir him up, or heat his vein? How can they feed him with intelligence? You have that fire which can a wit enflame, In happy London England’s fairest eye: Well may you Poets’ have of worthy name, Which have the food and life of Poetry. And yet the country or the town may sway, Or bear a part, as clowns do in a play.