Classic Poem

Where as dame Nature hath bestow'd a speciall gift of wit,
And learning won by travell long with natures lore is knit,
If wisdome then do rule his toung, the tryall of his skill,
A passing praise among the wise, no doubt but win he will;
But once infect with fonde conceit, how he doth others passe,
So feeding on his painted speach wil prove a passing asse.
Or if he seekes by reason's rule the scoffer to disgrace,
Which makes a scorne of sounde advice, and loves to floute and face;
Or when his equalles list to sport, to waste their sharpe annoy,
His glorious toung is gravely bent to countermaund their joy.
If once they do espy his veine, their vice they will him take,
Then sots will straight be on his top, the residue sport to make.
If argument his betters move, howe so the same doth growe,
If he defende or prove with them, before their mynde he knowe,
Too malapert they will him recke, and so their tale adjourne.
Thus too familiar speach in him unto contempt will tourne,
Where haply else, to try his wit, them selves will him request
To shewe his reasons and his mynde, which side he liketh best:
For ofte the best the baser choose, and leaves the high estate,
But knowes againe when to be strange, lest he should prove checke mat[e.]
In honest myrth is wisedome seene, as time thereto doth fit,
For gravest heads must have a meane for to refresh their wit:
Fewe wordes they say, in order plaste, the wise mans tale doth wray,
And silence is an answere fit the noddies toung to stay.
But over haste in seeking praise some myndes persuade the[e] stil
Their knowledge silence will conceale, what then availes their skill?
When as betweene the both extreames a modest meane doth lye,
For to direct the wisemans tong, as needes the use shall try.