Ne onely they that dwell in lowly dust,
The sonnes of darknes and of ignoraunce;
But they whom thou, great love, by doome uniust
Didst to the type of honour earst advaunce; 70
They now, puft up with sdeignfull insolence,
Despise the brood of blessed Sapience.

The sectaries* of my celestiall skill,
That wont to be the worlds chiefe ornament,
And learned impes that wont to shoote up still, 75
And grow to hight of kingdomes government,
They underkeep, and with their spredding armes
Doo beat their buds, that perish through their harmes.
  [* Sectaries, followers.]

It most behoves the honorable race
Of mightie peeres true wisedome to sustaine, 80
And with their noble countenaunce to grace
The learned forheads, without gifts or game: 
Or rather learnd themselves behoves to bee;
That is the girlond of nobilitie.

But ah! all otherwise they doo esteeme 85
Of th’heavenly gift of wisdomes influence,
And to be learned it a base thing deeme: 
Base minded they that want intelligence;
For God himselfe for wisedome most is praised,
And men to God thereby are nighest raised. 90

But they doo onely strive themselves to raise
Through pompous pride, and foolish vanitie;
In th’eyes of people they put all their praise,
And onely boast of armes and auncestrie: 
But vertuous deeds, which did those armes first give
To their grandsyres, they care not to atchive. 96

So I, that doo all noble feates professe
To register and sound in trump of gold,
Through their bad dooings, or base slothfulnesse,
Finde nothing worthie to be writ, or told:  100
For better farre it were to hide their names,
Than telling them to blazon out their blames.

So shall succeeding ages have no light
Of things forepast, nor moniments of time;
And all that in this world is worthie hight 105
Shall die in darknesse, and lie hid in slime! 
Therefore I mourne with deep harts sorrowing,
Because I nothing noble have to sing.

With that she raynd such store of streaming teares,
That could have made a stonie heart to weep; 110
And all her sisters rent* their golden heares,
And their faire faces with salt humour steep. 
So ended shee:  and then the next anew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.
  [* Rent, rend.]

MELPOMENE.

O, who shall powre into my swollen eyes 115
A sea of teares that never may be dryde,
A brasen voice that may with shrilling cryes
Pierce the dull heavens and fill the ayer wide,
And yron sides that sighing may endure,
To waile the wretchednes of world impure! 120