Classic Poem

Sonnet vi

Of this faire Volumne which wee World doe name,
If wee the sheetes and leaves could turne with care,
Of Him who it correctes, and did it frame,
Wee cleare might read the Art and Wisedome rare?
Finde out his Power which wildest Pow'rs doth tame,
His Providence extending everie-where,
His justice which proud Rebels doeth not spare,
In everie Page, no, Period of the same:
But sillie wee (like foolish Children) rest
Well pleas'd with colour'd Velame, Leaves of Gold,
Faire dangling Ribbones, leaving what is best,
On the great Writers sense ne'er taking hold;
Or if by chance our Mindes doe muse on ought,
It is some Picture on the Margine wrought.