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 | The Workes of Benjamin Jonson |  |
XI. On Some-thing, That Walkes Some-where.
At Court I met it, in clothes brave enough,To be a Courtier; and looks grave enough,
To seeme a statesman: as I neere it came,
It made me a great face, I ask'd the name.
A Lord, it cried, buried in flesh, and blood,
And such from whom let no man hope least good,
For I will do none: and as little ill,
For I will dare none. Good Lord, walk dead still.
| The Workes of Benjamin Jonson | |