Classic Poem

Fairer is your Cel , and it doth crave to be
Rightly with'n fild with sincerity,
Admitting nothing, O wise Iudge proformd,
Not of true fairenesse , being tri'd thats sound.
Cell so must needs be faire , and thats your caske
In which your inward soule her selfe doth maske,
So if the casket be so parely faire ,

Choise must the Iewel needs be then and rare:
Rare 'tis indeed, for in you is a soule
Admits of nothing hath a shew of soule.
Very well may we crave in such faire Cell
Lung, many yeares may that fair iewell dwell,
Expressing so the bewties of the mind,
Yeelding a full reward at last you'le finde.