I shun his doctrine; for, this swayeth me,
No man alone in points of faith can be.
Old Ambrose, Austin, Jerome, Chrysostome,
Or any father, if his reverence come
To move my free assent to any thing,
Which reason warrants not, unless he bring,
The sacred word of God to give me for it;
I prize not this opinion, but abhor it;

Nay, I no faction, 'gainst the truth would follow,
Although divinest Paul and great Apollo
Did lead me, if that possible, it were

That they should have permitted been to err;
And whilst that I am in the right, I care not,
How wise or learned them you think, that are not.
I care not who did hear me, if I said,
That he who for a place of justice paid
A golden income, was no honest man,
Nor he that sold it; for I prove it can,
And will maintain it, that so long as those
And church-preferments we to sale expose,
Nor commonwealth nor church shall ever be
From hateful bribery or damn'd schism free.
I may be blam'd, perhaps, for speaking this,
But much I care not; for the truth it is,
And were I certain that to blaze the same,
Would set those things that are amiss in flame,

Shame be my end, but I would undertake it, Though I were sure to perish, when I spake it!

I care not for preferments, which are sold,
And bought, by men of common worth, for gold;
For he is nobler who can those contemn,

Than most of such as seek esteem in them.
I do not for those airy titles care,

Which fools and knaves as well as I may wear,
Or that my name, whene'er it shall be writ,
Should be obscur'd with twenty after it;
For could I set my mind on vulgar fame,
I would not think it hard to make my name,
Mine own name, purchase me as true renown,
As to be call'd by some old ruin'd town.

I love my county, yet I do not care
In what dominions my abidings are;
For any region on the earth shall be,
On good occasion, native soil to me.

I care not though there be a muddy crew Whose blockishness, because it never knew The ground of this my carelessness, will smile, As if they thought I raved all this while.

For those, the proverb saith, that live in hell, Can ne'er conceive what 'tis in heaven to dwell. I care not for those places, whereunto

Bad men do sooner climb than good men do,

And from whose ever-joggling station all
May at the pleasure of another fall.
But oh! how careless every way am I
Of their base minds, who living decently
Upon their own demesnes, there fearless might
Enjoy the day, from morning until night,
In sweet contentments, rendering praise to Him
Who gave the blessings and this rest to them;
That free from cares and envies of the court,
They, honour'd in their neighbours' good report,
Might twenty pleasures, that kings not, try,
And keep a quiet conscience till they die.

O God! how mad are they, who thus may do,
Yet, that poor happiness to reach unto
Which is but painted, will those blessings shun,
And bribe, and woo, and sweat to be undone !
How dull are they, who, when they home may keep,
And there upon their own soft pillows sleep
In dear security, would roam about
Uncertain hopes or pleasures to find out;
Yea, strain themselves a slippery place to buy,
With hazarding their states to beggary,
With giving up their liberties, their fame,
With their adventuring on perpetual shame,
With prostituting nieces, daughters, wives;
By putting into jeopardy their lives;

By selling of their country, and the sale
Of justice, or religion, soul and all,

Still dreaming on content; although they may
Behold, by new examples every day,

That those hopes fail, and fail them not alone
In such vain things as they presumed on;
But bring them also, many times, those cares,
Those sad distractions, those despairs and fears,
That all their glorious gilding cannot hide
Those woeful ruins on the inner-side;
But, ten to one, at length they do depart
With loss, with shame, and with a broken heart.
I care not for this humour; but I had
Far rather lie in Bedlam, chain'd and mad,
Than be with these men's frantic mood possest;
For there they do less harm, and have more rest.
I care not when there comes a parliament;
For I am no projector, who invent

New monopolies, or such suits as those
Who, wickedly pretending goodly shows,
Abuses to reform, engender more

And far less tolerable than before;

Abusing prince, and state, and common-weal,
Their just-deserved beggaries to heal,
Or that their ill-got profit may advance
To some great place their pride and ignorance.

Nor through extortion, nor through bribery,
To any seat of justice climb'd am I ;

Nor live I so as that I need to care,

Though my proceedings should be question'd there; And some there be, would give their coat away, That they could this as confidently say.

I care for no such thriving policy

As makes a fool of moral honesty ;

For such occasions happen now and then,

That he proves wise, that proves an honest man.
And howsoe'er our project-mongers deem

Of such men's fortunes, and of them esteem,
How big soe'er they look, how brave soe'er
Among their base admirers they appear,
Though ne'er so trim in others' feathers dight,
Though clad with title of a lord or knight,
And by a hundred thousand croucht unto;
Those gaudy upstarts no more prize I do,
Than poorest kennel-rakers; yea, they are
Things, which I count so little worth my care,
That, as I love fair virtue, I protest,
Among all honest men the beggarl'est
And most betatter'd peasant, in mine eye,
Is nobler and more full of majesty,
Than all that brave bespangled rabblement,
Compos'd of pride, of shifts, and compliment.