thy neatly angled atomes to and fro
And sleep in beggar's Limbo, by dull Chaucer,
under the whim wham urn as broad as sawcer
Whilst yt thy name doth smell as sweet as May's
and all ye table talk is of thy Thais
thy miscellany and thy Davideis.
Rot away here and let the vault endure thee
let the religion of the house secure thee
and let the watching muses here immure thee.
Avaunt all ye that look profane and vile