In breefe yee stones enricht, and burnisht all with gold,
Set forth in Lapidaries shops, for Jewels to be sold.
Give place, give place I say, your beautie, gleame, and glee,
Is all the vertue for the which, accepted so you bee.
Magnes, the Loadstone I, your painted sheaths defie,
Without my helpe, in Indian Seas the best of you might lye.
I guide the Pilots course, his helping hand I am,
The Mariner delights in me, so doth the Marchant man.
My vertue lies unknowne, my secrets hidden are,
By me the Court and Common-weale, are pleasured very farre.