Classic Poem

My frend , my father , naie, which is more deere,
My selfe should I ere thee, ( belov'd ) forgett,
Whose loue to mee to mee doth thee indeere,
Whose life my will for like on edge doth sett:
In the wombe fashiond for a right Divine ,
Pleasing to God , to Angells , and to Men;
In whose face witt , and pietie doth shine,
To leade the blinde , drawe perverse Bretheren.
An hart of flesh , clos'd in a Brest of Brasse ,
To feele Men's paines and paine endure to ease them;
Charitie's Mirror , or thick christal glasse ,
Wher-through God's Sun- beams burne what doth disease them.
Good to the good and badd , to great and small ,
And my good freind though I be worst of all .