Classic Poem

If Poets pens deserued prayse,
Whose paynes deserued well:
Much more the mindes, the pens, the men,
Indued with heauenly skill.


Of loue, of warre, of Plants, of Birds,
Of Sheepe and Shepheards toyes:
Haue Poets writ who lie in dust,
Bereft of heauenly ioyes.


Yet these we see through worlde their prayse,
With eccho doth resound:
Much more is prayse to
Cotton
due,
Who makes Gods worde his ground.