Classic Poem

The true, and nothing-lesse-then sacred spirit
That moues your feete so farre from the prophane;
In skorne of Price, and grace of humblest merit,
Shall fill your Names sphere; neuer seeing it wane.
It is so rare, in blood so high as yours
To entertaine the humble skill of Truth;
And put a vertuous end to all your powres;
That th'honor Age askes, we giue you in youth.
Your Youth hath wonne the maistrie of your Mind;
As Homer sings of his Antilochus,
The parallell of you in euery kind,
Valiant, and milde, and most ingenious.
Go on in Vertue, after Death and grow,
And shine like Ledas twins; my Lord and you.
Euer most humbly and faithfully deuoted to you, and all the rare Patrons of diuine HOMER.