Honour

Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity: O that estates, degrees, and offices, Were not deriv'd corruptly; that clear honor Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer! How many then should cover, that stand bare? How many be commanded, that command? How much low peasantry would then be glean'd From the true seed of honor? How much honor Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, To be new vann'd?

Mine honor is my life, both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die.

A. Speak the height of honor. B. No man to offend, Ne'er to reveal the secrets of a friend; Rather to suffer than to do a wrong: To make the heart no stranger to the tongue: Provok'd, not to betray an enemy; Nor eat his meat, I choak with flattery; Blushless to tell wherefore I wear my scars, Or for my conscience, or my country's wars: To aim at just things. If we have wildly run Into offences, wish them all undone. 'Tis poor in grief, for a wrong done, to die: Honour to dare to live, and satisfy.

—He was a man That liv'd up to the standard of his honour, And prized that jewel more than mines of wealth: He'd not have done a shameful thing but once; Tho' kept in darkness from the world, and hidden, He could not have forgiven it to himself.

Not all the threats or favours of a crown, A prince's whisper, or a tyrant's frown, Can awe the spirit, or allure the mind Of him who to strict honour is inclin'd. Tho' all the pomp and pleasure that does wait On public places and affairs of state, Should fondly court him to be base and great: With even passions and with settled face, He would remove the harlot's false embrace, Tho' all the storms and tempests should arise, That church-Magicians in their cells devise, And from their settled basis nations tear, He would unmov'd the mighty ruin bear, Secure in innocence, contemn them all, And decently array'd in honour fall.

Honor and shame from no condition rise: Act well your part, there all the honour lies. Fortune in men has some small diff'rence made, One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd. " What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl!" I'll tell you, friend! a wise man and a fool. You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, Or, cobler-like, the parson will be drunk, Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather and prunella.