V.

Who lists to see what ever nature, arte, And heaven could doo, O Rome, thee let him see, In case thy greatnes he can gesse in harte By that which but the picture is of thee! Rome is no more: but if the shade of Rome May of the bodie yeeld a seeming sight, It’s like a corse drawne forth out of the tombe By magicke skill out of eternall night: The corpes of Rome in ashes is entombed, And her great spirite, reioyned to the spirite Of this great masse, is in the same enwombed; But her brave writings, which, her famous merite In spight of Time out of the dust doth reare, Doo make her idole* through the world appeare. [* _Idole_, image, idea.]