The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.

Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.

And keeps the palace of the soul.

All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.

His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.

If its length be not considered a merit, it hath no other.

And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.