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