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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.
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
