William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649)

OF this fair volume which we World do name

If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,

Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,

We clear might read the art and wisdom rare,

Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame,

His providence extending everywhere,

His justice which proud rebels doth not spare,

In every page, no period of the same:

But silly we, like foolish children, rest

Well pleased with coloured vellum, leaves of gold,

Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best,

On the great Writer’s sense ne’er taking hold;

Or, if by chance we stay our minds on aught,

It is some picture on the margin wrought.