Classic Poem

   Enter MACHEVILL . MACHEVILL :
Albeit the world think Machevill is dead,
 Yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps;
 And, now the Guise is dead, is come from France,
 To view this land, and frolic with his friends.
 To some perhaps my name is odious;
 But such as love me, guard me from their tongues,
 And let them know that I am Machevill,
 And weigh not men, and therefore not men's words.
 Admir'd I am of those that hate me most.
 Though some speak openly against my books,
 Yet will they read me, and thereby attain
 To Peter's chair; and, when they cast me off,
 Are poison'd by my climbing followers.
 I count religion but a childish toy,
 And hold there is no sin but ignorance.
 Birds of the air will tell of murders past.
 I am asham'd to hear such fooleries!
 Many will talk of title to a crown:
 What right had Caesar to the empery?
 Might first made kings, and laws were then most sure
 When, like the Draco's, they were writ in blood.
 Hence comes it that a strong built citadel
 Commands much more than letters can import:
 Which maxim had [but] Phalaris observ'd,
 H'ad never bellow'd in a brazen bull
 Of great ones' envy; o' the poor petty wights
 Let me be envied and not pitied.
 But whither am I bound! I come not, I,
 To read a lecture here in Britain,
 But to present the tragedy of a Jew,
 Who smiles to see how full his bags are cramm'd;
 Which money was not got without my means.
 I crave but this, – grace him as he deserves,
 And let him not be entertain'd the worse
 Because he favours me.
   Exit.