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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468640" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=468640" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">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.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Nicholas+Breton">Nicholas Breton</a></strong></div>

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