A wreath

A wreathed Garland of deserved praise,

Of praise deserved unto thee I give,

I give to thee, who knowest all my waies,

My crooked winding waies, wherein I live,

Wherein I dy, not live: for life is strait,

Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,

To thee, who art more farre above deceit,

Then deceit seemes above simplicitie.

Give mee simplicitie, that I may live,

So live and like, that I may know thy waies,

And practice them then shall I give

For this poore wreath, give thee a crowne of praise.