A Wreath

A wreathed garland of deserved praise,

Of praise deserved, unto thee I give,

I give to thee, who knowest all my wayes,

My crooked winding wayes, wherein I live,

Wherein I die, not live : for life is straight,

Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,

To thee, who art more farre above deceit,

Then deceit seems above simplicitie.

Give me simplicitie, that I may live,

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

Know them and practise them : then shall I

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