|Away thou fondling motley humorist,
|Leave mee, and in this standing woodden chest,
|Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye
|In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye;
|Here are Gods conduits; grave Divines, and here
|Natures Secretary, the Philosopher.
|And jolly Statesmen, which teach how to tie
|The sinewes of a cities mistique bodie;
|Here gathering Chroniclers, and by them stand
|Giddie fantastique Poëts of each land.
|Shall I leave all this constant company,
|And follow headlong, wild uncertaine thee?
|First sweare by thy best love in earnest
|(If thou which lov'st all, canst love any best)
|Thou wilt not leave mee in the middle street,
|Though some more spruce companion thou dost meet,
|Not though a Captaine do come in thy way
|Bright parcell gilt, with forty dead mens pay,
|Not though a briske perfum'd piert Courtier
|Deigne with a nod, thy courtesie to answer.
|Nor come a velvet Justice with a long
|Great traine of blew coats, twelve, or fourteen strong,