But rubs, or holes, or slipp'rinesse it hath,
Whereby, wee shall with Mischiefes meet; unlesse,
Wee walke it, with a stedfast-warinesse.
The steps to Honour, are on Pinacles
Compos'd of melting Snow, and Isicles;
And, they who tread not nicely on their tops,
Shall on a suddaine slip from all their hopes.
Yea, ev'n that way, which is both sure and holy,
And, leades the Minde from Vanities and Folly,
Is with so many other Path-wayes crost,