To M. RAWLINS Preacher.
The Ivie greene that dothe dispised growe,
And none doth plante, or trimme the same at all,
Althoughe a while it spreades it selfe belowe,
In time it mountes, with creepinge up the wall.
So, thoughe the worlde the vertuons men dispise,
Yet up alofte in spite of them they rise.