Classic Poem

O why shouldst thou that rulst the sky,
And mou'st those Orbs so orderly,
Th' affaires of men so much neglect?
Nor raise the good, nor bad deiect?
No: Fortune without order guides
What ever mortall man betides:
Her bounty her blind hands disburse
At randome; favouring the worse.
Dire lust foil'd Chastity profanes;
And fraud in Courts of Princes raignes.
Popular suffrages elate
Base men, who honour whom they hate.
Sad vertue the perverse reward
Receaues of Truth: want presseth hard
On chaster mindes: th' Adulterer high
In vice commands. Vaine modesty.
Deceitfull excellence.