Classic Poem

If men get name, for some one virtue: then,
What man art thou, that art so many men,
All-virtuous Herbert? On whose every part
Truth might spend all her voice, fame all her art.
Whether thy learning they would take, or wit,
Or valour, or thy judgement seasoning it,
Thy standing upright to thyself, thy ends
Like straight, thy piety to God, and friends:
Their latter praise would still the greatest be,
And yet, they, altogether, less than thee.