Classic Poem

Againe, of the saem

And yet blinde Iustice sees her Sword to sheath
if any offer her a Sheath of Gold ,
Nay, high and hardy Hands oft sincke beneath
the ableet Gift and Giuer , to vphold.

There's nought more free than gift yet nought more lies
the Hand , that takes them , to the Giuers will:
And yet (ah woe therefore) some godly-wise ,
take Gifts , as good and giue as gifts were ill .

Were I a Diuell , yet were I liberall,
(in this damn'd Age ) I would be seru'd with Saints ,
For if I sent bright Angels to them all,
they would adore me, maugre all restraints:
But, were I God , if Gold were not my Friend,
Pure Saints , in shew , would lothe me like a Fiend .