Book III, Satire 4

WEre yesterday Polemons Natals kept
That so his threshold is all freshly steept
With new-shed bloud? could he not sacrifice
Some sorry morkin that vnbidden dies:
Or meager heifer, or some roten Ewe:
Rut he must needs his Posts with bloud embrew,
And on his way-doore fixe the honned head,
With slowers, and with ribbands garnished?
Now shall the passenger deeme the man deuout.
What boots it be so, but the world must know't?
O the fond boasting of vaineglorious man:
Does he the best, that may the best be seene?
Who euer giues a paire of veluet shooes
To th'holy Road: or liberally allowes:
But a new rope, to ring the Couure-feu Bell,
But he desires that his great deed may dwell,
Or grauen in the Chancel-window-glasse,
Or in the lasting tombe of plated brasse.
For he that doth so few deseruing deeds,
T' were sure his best sue for such larger meeds.
Who would inglorious liue, inglorious die,
And might eternize his names memorie?
And he that cannot brag of greater store,
Must make his somewhat much, and little more.
Nor can good Myson weare on his left hond,
A signet ring of Bristol-diamond:
But he must cut his gloue, to shew his pride,
That his trim Iewel might be better spide:
And that men monght some Burgesse him repute,
With Satten sleeues hath grac'd his sackeloth sure.