Classic Poem

Honour, which differs man from man much more
Then reason differ'd him from beasts before,
Suffers this common fate of all things good,
By the blind world to be misunderstood.
For as some heathens did their gods confine,
While in a Bird or Beast they made their shrine,
Depos'd their Deitys to Earth, and then
Offer'd them rites that were too low for men:
So those who most to honour sacrifice,
Prescribe to her a dull and weak disguise;
Imprison her to others false applause,
And from opinion doe receive their Laws;
While that inconstant Idoll they implore,
Which in one breath can murder and adore.
From hence it is that those who honour court,
(And place her in a popular report)
Doe prostitute themselves to sordid fate,
And from their being oft degenerate
And thus their Tenents are as low and bad,
As if 'twere honourable to be mad:
Or that their Honour had concerned been
But to conceale, not to forbeare the sin
But honour is more great and more sublime,
Above the battery of fate or time
We see in beauty certain Ayres are found,
Which no one grace can make, but all compound.
Honour to th' mind, as beauty to the sence,
Is the result of mixed excellence.
As many Diamonds together ly,
And dart One lustre to amaze the ey:
So honour is that bright Aetheriall Ray
Which many Stars doe in one light display
But as that beauty were as truly sweet,
Were there no tongue to praise, no eye to see't;
And 'tis the priviledge of a native spark,
To shed a constant splendour in the dark:
So honour is its own reward and end,
And satisfyed within, cannot descend
To beg the suffrage of a Vulgar tongue,
Who by commending vertue does it wrong.
It is the charter of a noble action,
That the performance gives it satisfaction
Other things are below it; from a Clown
Would any Conquerour receive his Crown?
'Tis restless cowardize to be a drudge
To an uncertain and unworthy Judge
So the Camelion, who lives on Aire,
Is of all creatures most inclin'd to feare;
But peacable reflections on the mind
Will in a silent Shade contentment find.
Honour keeps court at home, and doth not feare
To be condemn'd abroad, if quitted there
While I have this retreat, 'tis not the noise
Of slander, though believ'd, can wound my Joys
There is advantage in't: for gold uncoyn'd
Had been unusefull, nor with glory shin'd:
This stamp'd my inocence, which lay i' th' Oare,
And was as much, but not so bright, before
Till an Alembique wakes and outward draws,
The strength of sweets ly sleeping in their cause:
So this gave me an opportunity
To feed upon my own integrity
And though their Judgement I must still disclaime,
Who can not give, nor take away a fame:
Yet I'le appeale unto the knowing few,
Who dare be Just, and rip my heart to you.