How wicked am I now? no Man can grow More wicked, till he swears, I am not so: Since Wealth, which doth authorize Men to erre, Since Hope, (that is the lawfull'st Flatterer) Were never mine one houre: yet I am loth To have lesse pride, than Men possess'd of both: Fuller of glory, than old Victors be, That thanke themselves, not Heav'n for Victorie: Prouder than Kings first Mistresses, who thinke Their Eies, gazing on Stars, would make Stars winke; That hope, they rule not by imperiall place, But by some beautious Charter in the Face. Yet this my pride, and glory, I thinke lost Unlesse declar'd, and heightned with a boast, Am I not bravely wicked then? and still Shall worse appeare, in Nature, as in will; When with my Malice (the grave Wit of Sinne) T'excuse my selfe, I draw the whole World in; Prove all in pride, in triviall glory share, Though not so harmelesse in't, as Poets are. When Battailes joyne, alas! what is't doth move ('Gainst all Celestiall harmony of Love) The Gallant Warriour to assault his Foe? Whose Vices, and whose Face, he ne're did know: Why would he kill? or why, for Princes fight? They quarrell more for glory, than for right: The pride then he defends, he'ld punish too, As if more Just in him, than in the Foe. Th' Ambitious States-man not himselfe admires For what he hath, but what his pride desires; Doth inwardly confesse, he covets sway, Because he is too haughty to obay: Who yeeld to him, doe not their reason please, But hope, their patience may procure them ease. How proudly glorious doth he then appeare, Whom ev'n the Proud, envy, the humble, feare. The Studious (that in Books so long have sought What our Wise Fathers did, or what they thought) Admit not Reason to be naturall, But forc'd, harsh, and uneasie unto all: Well may it be so, when from our Soul's Eyes, With dark Schoole-Clouds, they keepe it in disguise: They seeme to know, what they are loth t'impart; Reason (our Nature once) is now their Art: And by sophistick, uselesse-science, trie T'ingage us still, to their false industrie; T'untie that knot, which they themselves have ty'd, And had been loose to all, but for their pride: Their pride; who rule as chiefe on Earth, because They only can expound, their owne hard Lawes. Since thus, all that direct what others doe, Are proud; why should not Poets be so too? Although not good, tis prosperous at least To imitate the greatest, not the best. Know then, I must be proud! but when I tell The cause that makes my nourish'd glory swell, I shall (like lucky Pensils) have the fate T'exceed the Patterns, which I imitate, This not implies, to be more proud than they, But bravely to be proud, a better way: And thus (Arigo) I may safely climbe, Rays'd with the boast, not loaden with the crime: Those, with their glorious Vices taken be, But I (most right'ously) am proud of thee.
