Classic Poem

More oft than once death whisper'd in mine eare,
Graue what thou heares in diamond and gold;
I am that monarch whom all monarches feare,
Who hath in dust their farre-stretch'd pride vproll'd;
All, all is mine beneath moone's siluer spheare,
And nought, saue vertue, can my power with-hold:
This, not belieu'd, experience true thee told,
By danger late when I to thee came neare.
As bugbeare then my visage I did show,
That of my horrours thou right vse mightst make,
And a more sacred path of liuing take:
Now still walke armed for my ruthlesse blow,
Trust flattering life no more, redeeme time past,
And liue each day as if it were thy last.