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In prayse of the Booke.
  
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In prayse of the Booke.

Sweet is the paine which vertuous trauell brings,
High is the place which wisedome doth commend,
Sower is the ease of vices root that springs:
Loue is the seate which idlenes doth lend.
None getteth wealth that puts not from the shore,
Paine breedeth honor, vertue winneth fame,
Glorie doth follow, courage goes before,
Though oft the vent, answeare not the same.
Vertuous attempts are voide of all shame,
The base whome meanes obscurely doth keepe,
Liues voyd of honor, dies without name,
And in eternall darknes euer he doth sleepe.
Therefore Sinetes ti's then no blot,
With mournefull Passions to lament thy lot.
R. S. Esq.