Classic Poem

O griefe, O spight, to see poore Vertue scorn'd,
Truth far exil'd, False arte lov'd, Vice ador'd,
Free Justice sold, worst causes best adorn'd,
Right cast by Powre, Pittie in vaine implor'd!
O who in such an age could wish to live,
When none can have or hold, but such as give?

O times! O men! to Nature rebels growne,
Poore in desert, in name rich, proud of shame,
Wise but in ill: your stiles are not your owne,
Though dearely bought; honour is honest fame.
Old Stories onely goodnesse now containe,
And the true wisedome that is just, and plaine.