Classic Poem

Ay, marry, is 't,

But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honored in the breach than the observance. I, iv
This heavy-headed revel east and west
Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations.
They clepe us drnakards, and with swinish phrase
Soil our addition; and indeed it takes
From our achievements, though performed at height,
The pith and marrow of our attribute.
So, oft it chances in particular men,
That for some vicious mole of nature in them,
As in thieir birth--wherein they are not guilty,
Since nature cannot choose his origin--
By their o'ergrowth of some complexion,
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason,
Or by some habit that too much o'erleavens
The form of plausive manners, that these men,
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect,
Being nature's livery or fortune's star,
His virtues else, be they as pure as grace,
As infinite as man may undergo,
Shall in the general censure take corruption
From that particular fault.