|
| Hath no antipathy, but may be good |
| At least for physick, if not for our food. |
| Thus man, that might be his pleasure, is his rod, |
| And is his devil, that might be his God. |
| Since then our business is* to rectifie |
| Nature, to what she was; we're led awrie |
| By them, who man to us in little show; |
| Greater than due, no form we can bestow |
| On him; for man into himself can draw |
| All; All his faith can swallow,'or* reason chaw, |
| All that is fill'd, and all that which doth fill |
| All the round world, to man is but a pill, |
| In all it works not, but it is in all |
| Poysonous, or Purgative, or cordiall. |
| For, knowledge kindles Calentures in some, |
| And is to others icy Opium. |
| As brave as true, is that profession than |
| Which you do use to make; that you know man. |
| This makes it credible, you have dwelt upon |
| All worthy books; and now are such an one. |
| Actions are Authors, and of those in you |
| Your friends find every day a mart of new. |
|
| To the Countess of Bedford. |
|
| T'have written then* when you writ, seem'd to me |
| Worst of spiritual vices, Simony: |
| And not t'have written then, seems little less |
| Than worst of civil vices, thankelsness.* |
| In this, my debt I seem'd loth to confess, |
| In that, I seem'd to shun beholdingness: |
| But 'tis not so. Nothing as I am, may* |
| Pay all they have, and yet have all to pay.
|
[CW: Such] |