Pride

O mortal virtue and immortal sin,
How often hast thou led the fool aright,
Sent forth a shivering coward to the fight.
And made the worst man win!

Thine are the laurels giddy Pleasure lost,
The crown that hard Endeavour hardly earned.
And Glory woos thee, whom thy foot hath spurned.
With all her host.

He that hath thee, tho' poor in seeming wealth,
Is not bereft. He that hath all beside,
Lives like a beggar, being poor in pride,
And dies by stealth.