THOMAS HEYWOOD

Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom,

What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright

Even yet the laughing and the weeping light

That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from?

Small care was thine to assail and overcome

Time and his child Oblivion: yet of right

Thy name has part with names of lordlier might

For English love and homely sense of home,

Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bayleaf young

And gives it place aloft among thy peers

Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time has hurled:

And this thy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue —

“O good old man, how well in thee appears

The constant service of the antique world!”