“In vaine doo earthly princes then, in vaine,
Seeke with pyramides to heaven aspired,
Or huge colosses built with costlie paine,
Or brasen pillours never to be fired, 410
Or shrines made of the mettall most desired,
To make their memories for ever live: 
For how can mortall immortalitie give?

“Such one Mausolus made, the worlds great wonder,
But now no remnant doth thereof remaine:  415
Such one Marcellus, but was torne with thunder: 
Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine: 
Such one King Edmond, but was rent for gaine. 
All such vaine moniments of earthlie masse,
Devour’d of Time, in time to nought doo passe. 420

“But Fame with golden wings aloft doth flie,
Above the reach of ruinous decay,
And with brave plumes doth beate the azure skie,
Admir’d of base-borne men from farre away: 
Then who so will with vertuous deeds assay 425
To mount to heaven, on Pegasus must ride,
And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide.

“For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake,
Could save the sonne of Thetis from to die;
But that blinde bard did him immortall make 430
With verses dipt in deaw of Castalie: 
Which made the Easterne conquerour to crie,
O fortunate yong man! whose vertue found
So brave a trompe thy noble acts to sound.

“Therefore in this halfe happie I doo read* 435
Good Melibae, that hath a poet got
To sing his living praises being dead,
Deserving never here to be forgot,
In spight of envie, that his deeds would spot: 
Since whose decease, learning lies unregarded, 440
And men of armes doo wander unrewarded.
  [* Read, consider]

“Those two be those two great calamities,
That long agoe did grieve the noble spright
Of Salomon with great indignities,
Who whilome was alive the wisest wight:  445
But now his wisedome is disprooved quite,
For he that now welds* all things at his will
Scorns th’one and th’other in his deeper skill.
  [* Welds, wields]

“O griefe of griefes!  O gall of all good heartes! 
To see that vertue should dispised bee 450
Of him that first was raisde for vertuous parts,
And now, broad spreading like an aged tree,
Lets none shoot up that nigh him planted bee. 
O let the man of whom the Muse is scorned,
Nor alive nor dead, be of the Muse adorned! 455

“O vile worlds trust! that with such vaine illusion
Hath so wise men bewitcht and overkest*,
That they see not the way of their confusion: 
O vainesse to be added to the rest
That do my soule with inward griefe infest! 460
Let them behold the piteous fall of mee,
And in my case their owne ensample see.
  [* Overkest, overcast.]