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For, knowledge kindles Calentures in some,
And is to others jcy Opium.
As brave as true, is that profession than
Which you doe use to make; that you know man.
This makes it credible, you have dwelt upon
All worthy bookes; and now are such an one.
Actions are authors, and of those in you
Your friends finde every day a mart of new.
To the Countesse of Bedford.
T'have* written then, when you writ, seem'd to mee
Worst of spirituall vices, Simony,
And not t'have written then, seemes little lesse
Then worst of civill vices, thanklessenesse.
In this, my doubt I seem'd loath to confesse,
In that, I seem'd to shunne beholdingnesse.
But 'tis not soe, nothing, as I am, may,
Pay all they have, and yet have all to pay.
Such borrow in their payments, and owe more
By having leave to write so, then before.
Yet since rich mines in barren grounds are showne,
May not I yeeld (not gold) but coale or stone?
Temples were not demolish'd, though prophane:
Here Peter Ioves, there Paul have Dian's Fane.
So whether my hymnes you admit or chuse,
In me you'have hallowed a Pagan Muse,

[CW: And]