who practised his art with such entire cheerfulness: though Wither's
satisfaction had a deeper note, as when he says of his Muse--

"Her true beauty leaves behind
Apprehensions in the mind,
Of more sweetness than all art
Or inventions can impart;
Thoughts too deep to be express'd,
And too strong to be suppressed."

Yet Charles Lamb's nice observation--

"Fame, and that too after death, was all which hitherto the poets
had promised themselves from their art. It seems to have been
left to Wither to discover that poetry was a present possession
as well as a rich reversion, and that the muse had promise of
both lives--of this, and of that which was to come."

--must be extended by us, after reading his lines quoted above, to
include William Browne. He, at least, had no doubt of the Muse as an
earthly companion.

As for posthumous fame, Browne confides to us his aspirations in that
matter also:--

"And Time may be so kind to these weak lines
To keep my name enroll'd past his that shines
In gilded marble, or in brazen leaves:
Since verse preserves, when stone and brass deceives.
Or if (as worthless) Time not lets it live