Classic Poem

Just and fit actions Ptolemey (he saith)
Make many, hurt themselves; a praysed faith
Is her owne scourge, when it sustaines their states
Whom fortune hath deprest; come nere the fates
And the immortall gods; love only those
Whom thou seest happy; wretches flee as foes:
Looke how the starres from earth, or seas from flames
Are distant, so is proffitt from just aymes.
The mayne comaund of scepters, soone doth perishe
If it begyn religious thoughts to cherish;
Whole armyes fall swayd by those nyce respects
It is a lycense to doe ill, protectes,
Even states most hated, when no lawes resist
The sword but that it acteth what it list.
Yet ware; thou mayst do all things cruellie:
Not safe; but when thou dost them thoroughlie:
He that will honest be may quitt the Court,
Virtue, and Soveraigntie, they not consort.
That prince that shames a tyrants name to beare,
Shall never dare do any thing but feare.