Hath God or Nature sent.
But we do gape, and gaze for glore:
We prowle, and powle, and pill,
And sweare, and stare, and striue, and fight,
And one another kill.
And all for pompe, and glorie great,
For name, renowne, estate:
Not caring of the commons crye,
Or God’s eternall hate.
If I had had the giftes of grace,