Classic Poem

I'm much asham'd, to hear such Things of you,
Such brave, vain, weak Things, as they say you do,
Whose Strength of Arms, does your Mind's Weakness show;
Nay shows, you had Flaws in your Head, before
That Arms or Head-piece in the Field you wore;
For, had you had a Head-piece Natural,
Then t'other you had ne'er put on at all;
Since you, to gain your Immortality,
But vainly seek, before your time, to die;
But Satisfaction to your Foes to give,
Your best Friends, seeking your own Death, to grieve,
Lose your Life, that your Fame may longer live;
Till you your Honour, with your Life, expose,
For Fame, the Credit of your Reason lose,
Since such your Courage, it for Madness goes;
Which, thus unreas'nably does prove you Brave,
That your right Wits, there's none can think you have,
Who risk more your own Life, your Foe's to save;
To gain Fame, whilst the Bold Things by you done,
Are thought your Good Fate's Deeds, more than your Own;
Since Happy, Bold Things, you Fame's Franticks do,
Are to your Stars imputed, not to you,
Perform'd by you, whether you will or no;
Thus Honour's Hot-Heads oft, like Drunkards, 'scape,
But for their Want of Good-Sense, all Ill-Hap;
And but more Bold, in all their Dangers seem,
But as they less can be foreseen by them,
Who, to their Want of Sense, most often ow,
Both their Good Courage, and Good Fortune too,
Till their Vain Deeds, but their Dishonour grow;
Since Valour, (like most Virtues) in Excess,
As more 'twou'd show itself, but proves the less;
Becomes, of Noble Manhood, Brutishness;
Or, what is yet worse, Sensless Vanity,
To make our Love of Fame, our Infamy;
But if you more yet wou'd your Honour show,
Scorn Praise, that it may more your Merit grow,
So more than proudest Hero's will you do;
Who fear less what Men do, than what they say,
In order to take their Good Names away;
If you your Reputation truly prize,
Fear not what Fools talk of you, but the Wise,
And Fame, more to deserve it, more despise;
Not like those, who seek Praise, but to their Shame,
Whose Virtue, for their Vanity's their Blame;
Who satisfie not Honour, but their Pride;
Not to show Courage, but their Fear to hide;
Their Honour, not from its Abundance so,
But from their Want of it, they rather show,
In seeking it so proudly, meanly too;
So their own selves, by their own Pride debase;
Showing themselves necessitous of Praise,
Seeking more Fame, but more to their Disgrace;
Since that their Seeking it so greedily,
Shows, they have of it more Necessity;
As it, they more, from their Inferiours crave,
But your Fame ne'r to Rumour was a Slave,
Which you sought more to merit, than to have;
For sure, your ne'er shunn'd other Enemy,
Then the Brave Man's worst Foe, his Vanity;
Your Courage never was the Fear of Shame,
Your Honour, not your Vain Desire of Fame,

Your Virtue's Merit, not your Virtue's Blame;
To make your Aim, at more Renown, or Praise,
By seeking them, more truly your Disgrace;
You'd rather Daring be, than such appear,
Nothing but Praise, your Courage e'er cou'd fear;
But now, your Gallantry I'd have you prove,
Less by your Enmity, than by your Love;
To kill abroad your Male-Foes, do not roam,
But more to kill your Female Friends at home;
Who from your Dangers there, here undergo,
More Hazard of their Lives, than you can do
Of yours, in your provoking so your Foe;
So madly do not then, your Life expose,
Your Credit by your Honour, more to lose,
In fright'ning here your Friends, as there your Foes;
Your vain Pursuit of Fame, in Honour quit,
Lest Wise Men think your Courage, Want of Wit,
Not Honour, but Distraction, Cause of it;
Since sure, a Mad-Man's Virtue, as his Crime,
Is no more Merit, than that Guilt in him;
Though of your Life, you are so lavish, Friend!
Be not of mine, which must on yours depend,
Which can't last, if to yours you put an end;
And he's a Coward sure, who will not dare,
To risk his Fame, when 'tis his Friend to Spare;
Who, that I may be still so justly stil'd,
Can wish you no Success, in being Kill'd;
Which you seem much more than your Foes, (I doubt)
To do still all you can, to bring about;
I wou'd pray for your Life, wer't not in vain,
For me to hope, I cou'd from Heav'n, obtain
A Wonder, that is, not to have you slain;
For your Escape, (since you such Boldness show)
Wou'd, as your Courage, for a Wonder go,
Which, to your Life, seems the most deadly Foe;
So that, (I'm sure) it is a fruitless Pray'r,
To beg that Life of Heav'n, which still you are
Determin'd, less, than all your Foes, to spare.