If there be nothing new, but that
Hath been before, how are our brains
Which, labouring for invention, bear
The second burden of a former child!
O, that record could with a backward
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was
That I might see what the old world
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whether we are mended, or whether better
Or whether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring