|
| Too many vertues, or too much of one |
| Begets in you unjust suspition. |
| And ignorance of vice makes vertue less, |
| Quenching compassion of our wretchedness. |
| But these are riddles: som aspersion |
| Of vice becomes well some complexion. |
| States-men purge vice with vice, and may corrode |
| The bad with bad, a spider with a toad. |
| For so, ill thralls not them, but they tame ill, |
| And make her do much good against her will; |
| But in your Common-wealth, or world in you, |
| Vice hath no office, or good work to do. |
| Take then no vicious purge, but be content |
| With cordial vertue, your known nourishment. |
|
| To the Countess of Bedford |
|
| On New-years day. |
|
| This twiligt of two years, not past nor next, |
| Some emblem is of me, or I of this, |
| Who (Meteor-like, of stuff and form perplext, |
| Whose what and where, in disputation is,) |
| If I should call me any thing should miss. |
|
| I summe the years, and me, and finde me not |
| Debtor to th'old, nor Creditor to th'new, |
| That cannot say, My thanks I have forgot, |
| Nor trust I this with hopes, and yet scarce true. |
| This bravery is since these times shew'd me you. |
|
| In recompence I would shew future times |
| What you were, and teach them to urge towards such,
|
[CW: Verse] |