You may imagine him upon Blackheath; Where that his lords desire him to have borne His bruised helmet and his bended sword Before him through the city: he forbids it, Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride, (jiving full trophy, signal and ostent, Quite from himself to God. But now behold, In the quick forge and working-house of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens ! The mayor and all his brethren in best sort, Like to the senators of the antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels, Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in!
SJiakespeare.
��LORD OF HIMSELF
How happy is he born or taught Who serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his highest skill;
Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death Not tied unto the world with care
Of prince's ear or vulgar breath;
Who hath his ear from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
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