I.

I sing the progresse of a deathlesse soule, Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not controule, Plac'd in most shapes; all times before the law Yoak'd us, and when, and since, in this I sing. And the great world to his aged evening; 5 From infant morne, through manly noone I draw. What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw, Greeke brasse, or Roman iron, is in this one; A worke t'outweare _Seths_ pillars, bricke and stone, And (holy writt excepted) made to yeeld to none. 10