Classic Poem

LXXXIV

If thou wilt mighty be, flee from the rage
Of cruel will and see thou keep thee free
From the foul yoke of sensual bondage.
For though thy empire stretch to Indian sea
And for thy fear trembleth the farthest Thule,
If thy desire have over thee the power,
Subject then art thou and no governor.

If to be noble and high thy mind be moved,
Consider well thy ground and thy beginning;
For he that hath each star in heaven fixed
And gives the moon her horns and her eclipsing,
Alike hath made thee noble in his working,
So that wretched no way thou may be
Except foul lust and vice do conquer thee.

All were it so thou had a flood of gold,
Unto thy thirst yet should it not suffice
And though with Indian stones, a thousand fold
More precious than can thyself devise,
Ycharged were thy back, thy covetise
And busy biting yet should never let
Thy wretched life, ne do thy death profit.