Classic Poem

Who seekes on earth to finde, his Mansion sure to dwell,
Forsakes his God, forgets his heauen, & hies him fast to hell.
For why no flesh hath force, eternitie to finde,
But as of Clay it came, to Clay it must conuert by kinde.
If Bewtie blynde thine eyes, or Coyne it be thou craue,
Be sure therof they clogge thy soule, whe carcasse comes to graue.
Not strength, not honors stage, nor Empire helde alone,
But conscience cleere must only serue, before the heauenly throne(.)
Suppose before thy Prince, thy onely tale surmounts,
Tryumph not thou, for th'angels trumpe, calles thee to more acounts.
More pleasure here thou takes, in toyes on earth below,
More feeble thou, more force is theirs, to yeelde thine ouerthrow.
No comfort doe conceaue, in vaine and tryflyng toyes,
No minutes myrth can counteruayle, aye during deepe annoyes.
On earth the force of flood, and flame thou doest desyre
To shun, then chiefely seeke to auoyde, the force of endlesse fyre.
On earth thou doest desyre, delights that be but vayne,
In heauen the whylst thou dost neglecte, the ioy it shall remayne.
Then dye on earth to liue, and lieu on earth to dye,
Repose thy trust in heauenly things, and ioy eternallye.