Normale Version: Why worldlings do ye trust fraile honours dreams
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Why worldlings do ye trust fraile honours dreams
And leane to guilted glories, which decay?
Why doe yee toyle to registrate your names
On ycie pillars, which soone melt away?
True honour is not heere, that place it clames,
Where black-brow'd night doth not exile the day,
Nor no farre-shining lamp dives in the sea,
But an eternall sunne spreades lasting beames:
There it attendeth you, where spotlesse bands
Of spirits stand gazing on their soveraingne blisse,
Where yeeres not hold it in their canckring hands,
But who once noble, ever noble is.
Looke home, lest hee your weakned wit make thrall,
Who Edens foolish gardner earst made fall.