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