Classic Poem

A Conclusion.

M Y pen, I feare too lauishly hath run,
In too licentious reprehention;
Lines of this nature are vnlike to do
That which their rightest reach doth tend vnto
In euill kinde to checke an euill will
Mendes not the misse but hardens it in ill.
Yet sith Messias Herod fox did call
And Paul, the high priest tearmd a whited-wall
St Iohn the Baptist, vipers called the Iewes,
And many taunts like these, like saints did vse;
I hope I may vse some like liberty,
To show the world her looser vanity.
And though my Muse in iest hath ryot runne,
Taxing these times for sinne, in ernest, done,
Yet may I say (my conscience telling mee)
I speake but truth, which should from blame be free;
How ere myselfe I willingly may wrong
I nere (since Iudgement made my witt more strong)
Had pow'r to hurt the simplest liuing creature,
So much my spleene's beholden to my nature;
So that with Marius I am carelesse quite,
What tongues shall twattle of me (wrong or right),
If right it shall approue myne honesty,
If wrong my carriage carries it the lye
I stand not at the mercy of mens lips,
That so they foyle they care not with what slips:
Let all tongues walke through all mine actions, I
Will stand the while as vpright as a dye;
Where euen squares shall passe among the best
To win their loue in ernest and in iest
I know there is not one (if made of dust)
Can say I ere deceaud him in his trust:
Nor wrongd him wilfully, vnlesse I wrong
Those whom I truly tax with my pens tongue:
Yet sith their names suppressed are, I know
They owe them not valesse the faults they'l owe.
If so they will, they wrong themselues, and mee,
To take offence before it giuen bee.
I must confesse that nature in me plac'd
A pleasant disposition, though disgrac'd
With fell disasters that do make the spright
To shunne as hell, all places of delight:
For gamesome moodes now come from me as hard
As if they were with bolts of iron barrd
Yet see how Nature (soueraign of each creature)
Breakes ope those barres to shew her subiects nature;
And makes him maugre euery stop and stay,
To play with crimes as cat with mouse doth play.
Well, farewell Folly, Ile shake hands with thee;
And farwell Mirth, that dost but martir mee;
Into the world we came not to make merry,
(Though many of vaine mirth are neuer weary)
But for more holy and religious ends,
Which breed immortal mirth, that nere offends.
Hereafter, what my Muse shall thinke vpon,
Shall to that mirth (by Heau'ns helpe) tende alone
Meanwhile these merry-sorry lashes may
Driue Time and Times Abuse, with sport, away.