(untitled)

THat space where curled Waves do now divide
From the great Continent our happy Isle,
Was sometime Land, and now where Ships do glide,
Once with laborious Art the Plough did toyle:
Once those faire Bounds stretcht out so far and wide,
Where Towns, no Shires enwall'd, endeare each mile,
Were all ignoble Sea and marish vile,
Where Proteus Flocks danc'd measures to the Tide
So Age transforming all still forward runs,
No wonder though the Earth doth change her Face,
New Manners, Pleasures new, turne with new Suns,
Locks now like Gold grow to an hoary grace;
Nay, Minds rare shape doth change, that lies despis'd
Which was so deare of late and highly priz'd.