Classic Poem

Aboue all others may your Honor shine;
As, past all others, your ingenuous beames
Exhale into your grace the forme diuine
Of godlike Learning; whose exiled streames
Runne to your succour, charg'd with all the wracke
Of sacred Vertue. Now the barbarous witch
(Foule Ignorance ) sits charming of them backe
To their first Fountaine, in the great and rich;
Though our great Soueraigne counter-checke her charmes
(Who in all learning, reignes so past example)
Yet (with her) Turkish Policie puts on armes,
To raze all knowledge in mans Christian Temple.
(You following yet our king) your guard redouble:
Pure are those streames, that these times cannot trouble.