To Mr H. W.| |
20 Iuly. i5098. At Court. |
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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. |
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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. |
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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. |
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In this worlds warrfare they whome rugged Fate |
(Gods Com̄issary) doth so throughly hate |
As in ye Courts Squadron to Marshall their State |
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If they stand arm'd w.t seely honestee |
Wth wishing prayers, and neat integritee |
Like Indians gainst Spanish hostes they bee. |
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Suspitious boldnes, to this place belongs; |
And to'haue as many eares as all haue tongs; |
Tender to know; tough to acknowledge wrongs. |
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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 |
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Then let vs at these Mimick Antiques ieast |
Whose deepest Proiects, and egregious Gests |
Are but dull Morals of a game at Chests. |
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But now tis incongruity to smile. |
Therfore I end: And bid farwell awhile; |
At Court; though, From Court, were ye better stile. |