| |
| —i’ th’ world a hundred laws there be, | |
| Voide of all sense, but full of tyranny: | |
| Where foppish form our liberty restrains, | |
| And cripples us with false fantastick chains. | |
| You must pretend to love whom you detest, | 5 |
| Fawn on the great one when by him opprest; | |
| With sneering praise guild o’er his blackest crimes, | |
| And all those humours which debauch the times: | |
| Mask your displeasure with a smiling face, | |
| And swear you’re highly pleas’d with his disgrace: | 10 |
| Triumph in show when you are overthrown, | |
| And all your discontents and griefs disown: | |
| Cutting off quite, with base uneasy art, | |
| The honest commerce of the mouth and heart. | |
| O shameful slavery of poor mankind, | 15 |
| Unworthy of a man, or Christian mind; | |
| Instead of Christ, whom we should always owne, | |
| False tyranny and passion we enthrone: | |
| Cringing to those that from all virtue run, | |
| To serve a thousand masters in their turn. | 20 |
| The crowded way of vice could never shew | |
| Such pleasure, which true virtue doth bestow. | |
| From innocence a native joy accrues, | |
| But wracking sorrow always guilt pursues. | |
| The ill man’s never quiet, nor content; | 25 |
| The good is full of cheer, though penitent: | |
| His inward calm upon his brow appears, | |
| And halcyon like, no blustring storm he fears. | |
| Him all the turns of Fate ’s prepared to finde, | |
| Meets frowns and favours with an equal minde. | 30 |
| If sickness warns him of approaching death, | |
| Or fortune robs him of his worldly wealth, | |
| It cannot his unshaken courage move: | |
| Who above earth hath plac’d in heaven his love, | |
| His health, his riches, and his sole delight, | 35 |
| Is sure to serve his God with all his might; | |
| And that great Master faithfully to trace | |
| Whose death was triumph, pleasure a disgrace. | |
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