Sidor som bilder

And twenty other humours to maintain,
Beside the yearly charges of his train,
With this revenue; most of which, or all,
To mortgage must be set, perhaps to sale,
To pay his creditors, and yet all fail
To keep his crazy body from the jail ;-
Shall this dull fool, with his uncertain store
And in all honesty and virtues poor,
Hope for a mistress, noble, rich, and fair?
And is it likely that I can despair
To be as happy, if I seek it would,
Who such a matchless fortune have in hold,
That though the world my ruin plot and threat,
I can in spite of it be rich and great ?

A silly girl no sooner understands
That she is left in portion or in lands,
So large a fortune, that it doth excel
The greatest part who near about her dwell,
But straight begins to rate, and prize herself
According to the value of her pelf,
And though to gentry nor good breeding born,
Can all that have estates beneath her scorn.

This wit a woman hath ; and shall not I,
Who know I have a wealth, which none can buy
For all the world, expect a nobler phere
Than suits unto a hundred pounds a year?

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Shall love of truth and virtue make of me
A match no better worthy, than is he
Who knows not what they mean, and doth possess
In outward fortunes neither more nor less ?

Have I oft heard so many fair ones' plain
How fruitless titles are; how poor and yain
They found rich greatness, where they did not find
True love and the endowments of the mind ?
Have fairest ladies often sworn to me,
That if they might but only mistress be
Of true affection, they would prize it more
Than all those glories, which they most adore ?
Have I observ'd, how hard it is to find
A constant heart, a just and honest mind,
How few good natures in the world there are,
How scanty true affection is, how rare,
And shall I pass as true a heart away,
As hath conceiv'd an honest thought to-day,
As if in value to no more it came
Than would endear me to a vulgar dame
On equal terms, or else undo me with
Some oid rich croan, that hath outliv'd her teeth?
l'll rather break it with proud scorn, that dead,
The worms may rifle for my maidenhead.

I have no love to beauties which are gone, Much like a rose in June, as as blown:



Those painted cabinets, and nought within,
Have little power my respect to win;
Nor have I, yet, that stupid love to pelf,
As for the hope thereof to yoke myself
With any female, betwixt whom and me
There could not in the soul a marriage be.
For whosoever join without that care,
Fools and accursed in their matches are;
And so are you, that either hear or view
What I aver, unless you think it true.

I have no meaning, whensoe'er I wed,
That my companion shall become my head;
Nor would I, if I meant to keep my right,
So much as say so, though that win her might,
Not though a duchess; for the means I'll use
To keep my worth, though my reward I lose.
Yea, from a prison had she raised me,
Lord of her fortunes and herself to be,
I that respect would still expect to have,
Which might become her husband, not her slave.
And should I ’spouse a beggar, I would shew
What love and honour to a wife were due.

I have not, yet, of any scorned been,
Whose good opinion I have sought to win;
Nor have I, when I mean to woo, a fear
That any man shall make me willow wear.

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I have not eyes so excellent to see
Things, as some men 'can do, before they be;
Nor purblind sight, which crimes far off can inark,
Yet seem to faults which are more near me dark.
I have not ears for every tale that's told,
Nor memory things frivolous to hold.
I have not their credulity, that dare
Give credit unto all reports they hear;
Nor have I subject to their dulness been,
Who can believe no more than they have seen.

I have no feeling of those wrongs that be
By base unworthy fellows offer'd me;
For my contentment and my glory lies
Above the pitch their spite or malice flies.

I have not need enough as yet, to serve,
Nor impudence to crave till I deserve.
I have no hope, the world's esteem to get ;
Nor could a fool or knave e'er brook me yet.
I have not villainy enough to prey
Upon the weak, or friendship to betray. .
Nor have I so much love to life, that I
Would seek to save it by dishonesty.

I have not cowardice enough to fear
In honest actions, though my death be there;
Nor heart to perpetrate a wilful sin,
Though I with safety large renown might win;

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And for omitting it, were sure to die,
Ne'er to be thought on, but with infamy.

I have not their base cruelty, who can
Insult upon an over-grieved man,
Or tread on him that at my feet doth bow :
For, I protest, no villainy I know
That could be done me, but if I perceiv'd,
Or thought the doer without feigning griev’d,
I truly could forgive him, as if he
Had never in a thought abused me.
And if my love to mercy I belie,
Let God deny me mercy when I die.

I have not that unhappiness to be
A rich man's son; for he had trained me
In some vain path, and I had never sought
That knowledge which my poverty hath taught.

I have no inclination to respect
Each vulgar compliment, nor yet neglect
An honest show of friendship; for, I swear,
I rather wish that I deceived were,
Than of so base a disposition be,
As to distrust, till cause were given me.

I have no constitution to accord
To ought dishonest, sooner for a lord
Than for his meanest groom; and hopes there be,
It never will be otherwise with me.

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