Lament XI

«Virtue is but a trifle!» Brutus 1 said
In his defeat; nor was he cozenèd.
What man did his own goodness e’er advance
Or piety preserve from evil chance?
Some unknown foe confuses men’s affairs;
For good and bad alike it nothing cares.
Where blows its breath, no man can flee away;
Both false and righteous it hath power to stay.
Yet still we vaunt us of our mighty mind
In idle arrogance among our kind;
And still we gaze on heaven and think we see
The Lord and his all-holy mystery.