Classic Poem

In Honours Sphere thou like a Sun art shown,
Impartest light, yet not impair'st thy own.
The Poets Phaebus , and Physicians too,
Nay ev'n Church lights have influence from you.
They who laid hands on others for to preach,
On them th' times hands lay for to silence teach.
Thy hands relieve the mischief others do;
They're strangely tongue-ty'd cannot speak of you.
No gilt-tongu'd Lawyer but doth plead for thee;
When thou'rt but nam'd, he hath his Angel fee.
Physicians 'bove Catholicon thee quote,
'Gainst times infection their best antidote.
Thou read'st the living, yet neglect'st not th' dead,
Hast both in Books and Skeletons them o're read.
But oh th' rich incense of each virgin prayer,
While parents virtues now made dowries are!
Stream to posterity honour in thy blood,
What vice nor th' times Contagion taints, is good.
Plaistred with blood no house on ruines built,
With others gold rear'd up, but thy own gilt.
'Bove Constellations may thy Coronet shine:
Honour her self is honour'd being thine.
Who the lost Cyphers th' house of Lords complains,
While that perfections summe in thee remains.