(untitled)

WHy (Worldlings) do ye trust fraile Honours dreames?
And leane to guilted Glories which decay?
Why do ye toyle to registrate your Names
On Ycie Pillars, which soon melt away?
True Honour is not here, that place it claimes
Where black-brow'd Night doth not exile the Day,
Nor no far-shining lampe dives in the Sea,
But an eternall Sun spreads lasting Beames;
There, it attendeth you, where spotlesse Bands
Of Sp'rits stand gazing on their soveraigne Blisse,
Where yeares not hold it in their cank'ring hands,
But who once noble, ever noble is.
Look home, lest he your weakned Wit make thrall,
Who Edens foolish Gard'ner earst made fall.