Let great and courtly pers'nages delight In some dull jester or a parasite,

Or in their dry buffoon, that gracefully

Can sing them bawdy songs, and swear, and lie;
And let their mastership, if so they please,
Still favor more the slaverings of these
Than my free numbers, for I care no more
To be approved or esteemed for

A witty make-sport, than an ape to be.
And whosoever takes delight in me
For any quality, that doth affect
His senses better than his intellect,

I care not for his love. My dog doth so :
He loves, as far as sensual love can go,
And if, how well he lov'd me, I did weigh,
Deserves, perhaps, as much respect as they.
I have a soul, and must beloved be

For that, which makes a lovely soul in me;
Or else, their loves so little care I for,
That them and their affections I abhor.

I care not though some fellows, whose desert
Might raise them to the pillory, the cart,
The stocks, the branding-iron, or the whip,
With such-like due preferment, those do skip,
And by their black endeavors purchase can
The privileges of a noblema

And be as confident in what they do,
As if by virtue they were rais'd thereto.
For, as true virtue hath a confidence,
So, vice and villains have their impudence,
And manly resolution both are thought,
Till both are to an equal trial brought;
But vicious impudence then proves a mock,
And virtuous constancy endures the shock.
Though such unworthy grooms, who t'other day
Were but their masters' pandars to purvey
The fuel of their lust, and had no more

But the reversion of their meat, their whore,
And their old clothes to brag of; though that these,
The foes to virtue and the time's disease,
Have now, to cover o'er their knav'ry,
Got on their robes of wealth and bravery,
And dare behave their rogueships saucily
In presence of our old nobility,

As if they had been born to act a part
In the contempt of honour and desert;
Though all this be, and though it often hath
Discourag❜d many a one in virtue's path,
I am the same, and care not; for I know,
Those butter-flies have but a time to shew
Their painted wings, that when a storm is near,
Our habits, which for any weather are,

May shew more glorious, whilst they shrinking lie
In some old crevice, and there starve and die.
Those dues, which unto virtue do belong,
He that despiseth, offers virtue wrong;
So, he that follows virtue for rewards,
And more the credit than the act regards,
Or such esteem as others seek doth miss,
Himself imagines worthier than he is.
If therefore I can tread the way, I ought,
I care not how ignoble, I be thought;
Nor for those honours do I care a fly,
Which any man can give me, or deny :
For what I reckon worth aspiring to

Is got and kept, whe'er others will or no;
And all the world can never raise a man
To such brave heights, as his own virtues can.
I care not for that gentry, which doth lie
In nothing but a coat of heraldry.

One virtue more I rather wish I had,

Than all the heralds to mine arms could add;
Yea, I had rather that by industry

I could acquire some one good quality,
Than through the families that noblest be,
From fifty kings to draw my pedigree.
Of nations or of countries I nought care
To be commander; my ambitions are

To have the rule and sovereignty of things
Which do command great emperors and kings:
Those strong and mighty passions, wherewithal
Great monarchs have been foil'd and brought in
thrall,

I hope to trample on; and whilst that they.
Force but my body, if I disobey,

I rule that spirit, which would they constrain
Beyond my will, they should attempt in vain ;
Yea, whilst they, bounded within limits, here
On some few mortals only, domineer,
Those titles and that crown I do pursue,
Which shall the devils to my power subdue
I care not for that valor, which is got
By furious choler, or the sherry-pot;
Nor, if
my, cause be ill, to hear men say
I fought it out, e'en when my bowels lay
Beneath my feet. A desperateness it is,
And there is nothing worthy praise in this;
For I have seen, and you may see it too,
That any mastiff-dog as much will do.
He valiant is, who knows the disesteem
The vulgar have of such as cowards seem,
And yet dares seem one, rather than bestow
Against an honest cause, or word, or blow;
Though, else he fear'd no more to fight or die,
Than you to strike a dog or kill a fly.

Yea, him I honour who, new 'wak'd from sleeping,
Finds all his spirits so their tempers keeping,

As that he would not start, though by him there,
Grim death, and hell, and all the devils were.
I care not for a coward; for to me

No beasts on earth more truly hateful be;
Since all the villainies that can be thought
Throughout the world, and altogether brought
To make one villain, can make nothing more
Then he that is a coward was before;
And he that is so, can be nothing less
Than the perfection of all wickedness:
In him no manly virtues dwelling are,
Nor any shows thereof, except for fear:
In no brave resolution is he strong,
Nor dares he 'bide in any goodness long;
For, if one threatning from his foe there come,
His vowed resolution starts he from,
And cares not what destruction others have,
So he may gain but hope himself to save.
The man, that hath a fearful heart, is sure
Of that disease that never finds a cure ;

For, take and arm him through in ev'ry place,
Build round about him twenty walls of brass,
Girt him with trenches whose deep bottoms lie
Twice lower than three times the Alps are high,