p.
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To haue written then, when yow writt, seemd to mee Worst of Spirituall vices, Simonee. And not to haue written then seemes littell lesse, The worst of civill vices Thankelesnes. In this my debt, I seemd loth to confesse; In that I seemd to shun Beholdennesse. But tis not so: Nothings, as I am, may Pay all they haue, and yett haue all to paie. Such borrow in ther Paments, and owe more By havinge leaue to write so, then before Yett since rich Mines in barren grownds are showne May not I yeild (not Gold) but Cole, or Stone? Temples, ware not demolished, though profane; Here Peter, Ioues, the Paul hath Dians Fane; So whether my Hymus yow admitt, or chuse In mee, you haue hallowed a Pagan Muse, And Denizend a stranger: who Misthought By blamers of the tymes they mard, hath sought Vertues in Corners, which now brauely doe Shine in the Worlds best part >e → s<, or all itt. You. I haue bene tould, that Vertue in Courtiers hartes Suffers an Ostracisme, and departes: Proffitt, Ease, fittness, Plentie bid itt goe; But whether only knowinge yow. I knowe. Your, or you, Vertue, two vast vses serues, It ransomes One sexe it One Court preserues Theres Nothing but your worth, which beinge true Is knowne to any other not to yow. |
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