Classic Poem

Let them, who doe attempt both day and night,
To sacke the fort of reason,
Perverting Natures lawes, and order quite,
Misuseing Time, and season,
Ballance the jeopardy, and the delight,
Resulteing from their treason,
Whereby they doe disthrone rebell'ously,
The Soules high hegemonicke faculty,
And doe the image of their God transmute,
Into that of a brute.

God hath given Man the rule, and soveraignty,
Over both Fowles, and beasts:
But Hee, as weary of his dignity,
Desertes his interests,
Quittes both his empire, and his Majesty,
And with their formes invests
Himself: and madly personates those creatures,
Of brutish sense, and worst proportion'd features;
As if his life were nothing els at all,
But a long Carnevalle,

A season of disguise, and as if God
Did love a Masquerade,
Or did delight in shapes, and postures odde,
More than devotion sad,
Or in Lymphaticke braines to make abode,
And be with Orgyes mad
Ador'd:/ (Oh Thou) who didst turne water cleare,
Into most gen'rous wine,

And by this miracle, didst make t'appeare,
Thy essence was divine
Teach mee t'accomplish (by the Spirit deare)
A miracle like thine;
That I may turne sweet wine to brinish teares,
My looser sonnetts, into holy verse:
And while I thus turne wine to Holy water,
I shall praise my Creatour.