Classic Poem

I Stand not to giue praise before the face
Of this great worke, that doth it selfe commend:
But to congratulate the good and grace
That England com's thereby to apprehend:
And in hir name to thanke your industry
Laborius Florio, who haue so much wrought
To honour hir in bringing Italy
To speake hir language, and to giue hir note
Of all the treasure that rich tongue containes:
Wherein I cannot but admire your paines
In gathering vp this vniuersall store,
And furniture of words for euery arte,
And skill of man: So that there seem's no more
Beyond this search, that knowledge can impart.
Which being a worke which would take up the powers
Of more then one whole man, I wonder how
You could subtract so many serious howres
From that great summe of seruice that you owe.
But that it seemes the beaming Gracefulnesse
That lightens from the most refulgent Qveene
Our sacred Mistris, work's that ablenesse
As mak's you more, then els you could haue beene.
Wherein the power of Princes well is seene
That can infuse such force, and make age greene.
And it were well, if in this season, when
They leaue erecting Churches, Colledges,
And pious monuments, they would build men
Who of their glory may be witnesses,
And what they doe be theirs: As Mazons raise
Work's not for them, but for their masters praise.
For, would they but be ples'd to know, how small
A portion of that ouer-flowing waste
Which run's from them, would turne the wheeles and all
The frame of wit, to make their glory last:
I thinke they would doe something: but the stirre
Still about greatnesse, giues it not the space
To looke out from it selfe, or to conferre
Grace but by chance, and as men are in place.
But that concern's not me, It is ynow
I doe applaud your worke. Thus from my Plow.