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.