Classic Poem

Such is the vnequall, and inhumane vice
Of these vile Times , that each man sets his price
On others Labors; And the lasiest Drone
That neuer drop of honey, of his owne
Brought to the publique Hiue , distasts all ours
And (in the worlds wit) feeds far worthier Powers.
Tis Noble to be idle; Base to be
Of any Art, Good Mind, or Industry.
Another sort of dull Opinionists,
Consume their stupid liues in learned mists;
Yet would be seene (poore soules) beyond the Sun;
But that like Dolon , in the darke they run,
Other Explorers fearing. And these men
Like Cheaters , foyst in false dice to their Den ,
To win mens thoughts of th'onely truly learnd,
And feede on that conceit, before tis earnd.
To strengthen which, their Markets are the Marts
Where sounds and Names of Artsmen , & all Arts
They stuffe their windy memories withall;
And then when ere their Creditors shall call
They pay them, with these Tokens , all they owe;
Then, Honest men they are, then all things know.
When all employd in priuate conference;
They count all rude that are of open braines
Feare to be fooles in print, though in their Cels
(In Learn'd mens vizards) they are little else.
They that for feare of being cald fooles, hide,
Like hid men more they stir the more are spied,
Whose learnings are as ignorantly applied,
As those illiterate Peripaticke soules,
That all their liues, do nought but measure Poules;
Yet neuer know how short or long it is,
More then their liues, or all their idle blisse.
In short, All men that least deseruings haue,
Men of most merit euer most depraue.
How euer (friend) tis in vs must assure
Our outward Acts; and signe their passe secure.
Nor feare to find your Noble paines impeacht,
But write as long as Foxe , or Nowell preacht:
For when all wizards haue their bolts let fly,
There's no such proofe of worth, as Industry .
E merito solers Industria reddat honorem .