We find that i’th’East Indies1 stars there be,
Which we in our horizon ne’er did2 see;
Yet we do take great pains in glasses clear
To see what stars do in the sky appear.
But yet the more we search, the less we know, 5
Because we find our work doth endless grow.
For who knows, but those stars3 we see by night
Are suns which to some other worlds give light?
But could our outward senses pace the sky,
As well as can4 imaginations high,5 10
If we were there, we might as little6 know
As those which stay, and never up do7 go.
Then let no8 man in fruitless pains life spend:
The most we know is, Nature death will send.