My Lord,
html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }I find the Gentry so o're-joy'd i'th Towne,
As if all Prisons (safely) were rac'd downe:
As if, the Judges would no more resist
Wrongs with the Law, but each turne Duelist;
And not with Statutes, but with Rapiers fence,
At Mason's ward to succour Innocence.
As if some trusty Poet now had bin
Chosen with full voyce City-Chamberlin;
Their Treasure kept, and might dispose of it
And th'Orphans Goods, as his free Muse thought fit.
As if grave Benchers had been seene to weare
Loud German Spurres, tall Feathers, and long Haire.
Such wilde inversions, both of Men, and Lawes,
Amaz'd my Faith, untill I knew, the cause
Was your returne to health; which did destroy
All griefe in greater Minds, and swell their joy:
Which made me gladly vow to dedicate
Each Yeare, a solemne sacrifice to Fate;
Such as should please old Esculapius too,
More than dissected Cocks were wont to doe,
(If there be prophecie in Wine) and then
You shall be knowne to Altars, as to Men.