Invective: The Hate Of Treason
O the sweet sence of love's humilitie !
Which feares displeasure in a dearest friend,
The onely note of Truth's nobilitie,
Whose worthy grace is graced without end;
For who wants faith, wants little of a friend;
While faithfull love, in humble truth approved,
Doth euer Hue, of God and man beloued.
Alas ! the little time of Nature's leave,
To runne the course of her allotted care,
Where idle shadowes the eie deceaue,
That onely hunteth after Fortune's show,
And bad must leaue it, ere it be aware:
Looke, looke at heauen, and let the world go by,
Better to die to Hue, than Hue to die.
Let pride be hatefull vnto euery state,—
It is a vice with vertue not allowed;
And such a vice as vertue hath in hate,
For vertue neuer makes the spirit prowde,
And in advauncement of nobilitie
Gives greatest graces, Truth's humilitie.
Which grace is gracious in the sight of God,
Makes men as saints and women angells seeme,
Makes sinne forgotten, mercy vse no rod,
And constant faith to prooue in great esteeme;
While wisdome's care can neuer truth misdeem,
But is in some a blessing of the highest,
And to the nature of himself the nighest.