Classic Poem

If wit would weene of what wit (weening) might
Itselfe beseeme, and (reasoning) reason right
Happy were wit, and happy were the head
Where such vncompast wit is compassèd
Crowne, murall, nauall and emperiall,
Varied in glory super-celestiall
Inuiron would those euer blessèd browes;
Lasting as long as perfect knowledge knowes.
Men-gods, Gods men, Gods good men, good Gods men
(In tearmelesse time) they tearmd, and should be then
Worlde-blessing creatures, creatures like Creator,
Herralds of heauen to blaze the armes of Nature:
But Wit ore woening, his powres' armes extending
Reason to rase, and still with Truth contending,
Contending for contentions sake accurst.
Makes of heauen's center, hell; and what is worst,
Monster of Nature, Nature still oppugning,
Thyselfe (vnaturally) thyselfe impugning:
Ore-weening wilfull Wit, ah woe to thee,
Author of ills that ill of euills bee.