I see the house my harte thy selfe containe,
Beware full Sailes drown not thy tottering Barge,
Least joy by nature apt, (spirites to enlarge)
Thee to thy wracke beyond thy limits straine,
Nor doe like Lords whose weake confused braine,
Not pointing to fit folks each undercharge,
While every office themselves will discharge,
With doing all leave nothing done but paine,
But give apt servants their due place; let eye
See beauties totall summe summ’d in their face,
Let eares heare speach which will to wonder tye,
Let breath suck up those sweetes, let armes imbrace
The Globe of weale, lipps Lov’s Indentures make.
Thou but of all the kingly tribute take.