The worldly prince doth in his sceptre hold <br />A kind of heaven in his authorities; <br />The wealthy miser, in his mass of gold, <br />Makes to his soul a kind of Paradise; <br />The epicure that eats and drinks all day, <br />Accounts no heaven, but in his hellish routs; <br />And she, whose beauty seems a sunny day, <br />Makes up her heaven but in her baby's clouts. <br />But, my sweet God, I seek no prince's power, <br />No miser's wealth, nor beauty's fading gloss, <br />Which pamper sin, whose sweets are inward sour, <br />And sorry gains that breed the spirit's loss: <br />No, my dear Lord, let my Heaven only be <br />In my Love's service, but to live to thee.<br /><br />Nicholas Breton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-77/
