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To Mr H. W.|
20 Iuly. i5098. At Court.
Here is no more newes then Vertu: I may as well [f. 25]
Tell you Calis, or St Michels tale for newes, as tell
That Vice doth here habitually dwell.
Yet as to get stomacks we walke vp & downe
And toyle to sweeten rest, so may God frowne
If but to lothe both, I haunt Court or towne.
For here no one, is, frō th'extremitee
Of Vice by any other reason free,
But yt the next to'him still is worse thē hee.
In this worlds warrfare they whome rugged Fate
(Gods Com̄issary) doth so throughly hate
As in ye Courts Squadron to Marshall their State
If they stand arm'd w.t seely honestee
Wth wishing prayers, and neat integritee
Like Indians gainst Spanish hostes they bee.
Suspitious boldnes, to this place belongs;
And to'haue as many eares as all haue tongs;
Tender to know; tough to acknowledge wrongs.
Beleeue me, Sr, in my Youths giddiest dayes,
When to be like ye Court was a Playes prayse,
Playes were not so like Courts, as Courts are like playes
Then let vs at these Mimick Antiques ieast
Whose deepest Proiects, and egregious Gests
Are but dull Morals of a game at Chests.
But now tis incongruity to smile.
Therfore I end: And bid farwell awhile;
At Court; though, From Court, were ye better stile.