Tis better to be vile than vile esteemd,When not to be receives reproach of being,And the just pleasure lost which is so deemdNot by our feeling but by others seeing:For why should others false adulterate eyesGive salutation to my sportive blood?Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,Which in their wills count bad what I think good?No, I am that I am, and they that levelAt my abuses reckon up their own:I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel;By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown;
Unless this general evil they maintain,All men are bad, and in their badness reign.