| New Epigrams, and a Satyre | |
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60. To Superbus.
Thou think'st no man so good, or great as thee,
Noe mortall, fit for thy society,
Vnles thou doe vouchsafe to take affection
To one, perchance will sooth thy imperfection:
Yet, but a little strike the swelling saile
Of weake Opinions selfe conceyling vaile,
And see wheron thou stand'st, (Propt vp by Clay.)
Thou soone wouldst steere thy Course another way
O; be not of thy shame, or weaknes proud,
Which at thy highest pitch, yeilds but a shroud.
And if thou needs wilt haue thy Birth proclaim'd,
Ile say, Thou art o'th finest Morter fram'd,
| New Epigrams, and a Satyre | |
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