When I scan over with a busy eye
The timely fruits of thy vast industry,
Observing how thou searchest out the heart
Of Knowledge, through th' untrodden pathes of Art,
How easily thy active minde discries
Natures obscure and hidden rarities,
No greater wonder than thy selfe I finde,
The chiefest rarity's thy active minde,
Which so fore-runs thy age. Thy forward spring
Buds forth betimes, and thou art publishing