How holy thinkèst thou thyself to be!
Thou art but blood and dust and brittle bone.
What virtue doth thou claim as thy sole own
That mayst so loudy rail and rant at me?
What arrogance, what pride, what vanity!
To be, as thou art, of the world and yet
To list, as thou list, straight alone to get
Up o'er it, in unique impunity.
I daily err, eke thy fate is to,
I know my flaw, while thou thy same deny.
I hunger not mine nature to bely,
Whilst thou, to be thyself, are loth to do.
   Canst thou not see thy fault is thine to mend,
   Lest bitter be thy life, and quick thine end?

January 23, 2005