You Are A Lord, An Earl, Nay More, A Man Who Writes Sweet Numbers Well As Any Can; If So, Why Then Are Not These Verses Hurled, Like Sybil'S Leaves, Throughout The Ample World? What Is A Jewel If It Be Not Set Forth By A Ring Or Some Rich Carcanet? But Being So, Then The Beholders Cry: See, See A Gem As Rare As Belus' Eye. Then Public Praise Does Run Upon The Stone, For A Most Rich, A Rare, A Precious One. Expose Your Jewels Then Unto The View, That We May Praise Them, Or Themselves Prize You. Virtue Concealed, With Horace You'll Confess, Differs Not Much From Drowsy Slothfulness.