Thou wert in thy mindes Empire, and how all
Who out-live thee, see but the Funerall
Of glory: and if yet some vertuous be,
They but weake apparitions are of thee.
So setled were thy thoughts, each action so
Discreetely ordered, that nor ebbe nor flow
Was ere perceiv'd in thee: each word mature
And every sceane of life from sinne so pure
That scarce in its whole history, we can
Finde vice enough, to say thou wert but man.