Classic Poem

Some of thy wealth talke, but I praise thy wit,
And many worthy vertues gracing it.
But thy great love to Arts, so make[s] me thine,
That my true heart shall ever be the shrine
Of thy good name, which in the Booke of fame
I'le register to dull oblivions shame
And if my penne can adde ought to thy worth,
In spite of Envies throate, it shall come forth:
Till then; accept this my great loves small treasure;
And Hercules his height by his foote measure.