To wheele our selves, in a perpetuall Round,
In quest of that, which never will be found?
In Objects, here on Earth, we seeke to finde
That perfect sollidnesse, which is confinde,
To things in Heaven, though every day we see,
What emptinesse, and faylings, in them be.
To teach us better; this, our Emblem, here,
Assayes to make terrestriall things appeare
The same they be, (both to our eares and eyes)
That, wee may rightly their Condition prize.