If Poets pens deserued prayse,
Whose paynes deserued well:
Much more the mindes, the pens, the men,
Indued with heauenly skill.
Of loue, of warre, of Plants, of Birds,
Of Sheepe and Shepheards toyes:
Haue Poets writ who lie in dust,
Bereft of heauenly ioyes.
Yet these we see through worlde their prayse,
With eccho doth resound:
Much more is prayse to Cotton due,
Who makes Gods worde his ground.
