Upon T. R. a very little man but excellently Learned.
MAkes Nature maps? since that in thee
Sh' has drawn an University,
Or strives she in so small a peece
To summe the Arts and Sciences?
Once she writ onely Texthand, when
She scribled Giants and no men:
But now in her decrepit yeares
She dashes Dwarfs in Characters,
And makes one single farthing bear
The Creed, Commandments and Lords-prayer:
Would she turn Art and imitate
Monte-regio's flying gnat?
Would she the Golden Legend shut
Within the Cloyster of a nut?
Or else a musket bullet rear
Into a vast and mighty sphear?
Or pen an Eagle in the Caul
Of a slender Nightingall?
Or shew she Pigmies can create
Not too little but too great?
How comes it that she thus Converts
So small a totum and great parts?
Strives she now to turn awry
The quick scent of Philosophie?
How, so little matter can
So monstrous big a form contain,
What shall we call (it would be known)
This Gyant and this Dwarf in one?
His age is blab'd by silver haires,
His limbs still cry out want of years,
So small a body in a Cage
May choose a spatious Hermitage,
So great a Soul doth fret and fume
At th' narrow world for want of room,
Strange Conjunction! here is grown
A Molehill and the Alpes in one,
In th' self same action we may call
Nature both thrift and Prodigall.