Classic Poem

How fals it out, the sincere Magistrate,
(Who keepes the course of Iustice sacredly)
Reapes from the people reuerence, and hate,
But not the loue which followes liberty?

The cause is plaine, since taxe on Peoples good
Is hardly borne, Sense hauing no foresight,
Hates reasons workes as strange to flesh and blood,
Whence he that striues to keepe mans heart upright

Taxeth his phansies at an higher rate;
And laying lawes vpon his frailty,
Brings all his vices to a bankrupt state,
So much is true worth more refin'd than we:
Againe, who taskes mens wealth, pierce but their skin,
Who roots their vice out, must pierce deeper in.