Classic Poem

You that with awfull eyes and sad regards,
Gazing on masts of ships crost with their yards;
Or when yee see a microcosme to swim,
At ev'ry stroake the crucifixe doe limne
In your braine's table; or when smaller things,
As pyed butter-flyes, and birds their wings
Doe raise a crosse, streight on your knees doe fall
And worship; you, that evrye painted wall,
Grac't with some antik face, some godling make,
And practise whoordome for the crosse's sake
With bread, stone, mettall; read these sacred layes,
And, proselytes, proclaime the author's praise:
Such fame your transformation shall him giue,
With Homer's ever that his name shall liue.