Thou must do that which men—ay, valiant men—
Hourly submit to do; in the proud court,
And in the stately camp, and at the board
Of midnight revellers, whose flush’d mirth is all
A strife, won hardly. Where is he whose heart
Lies bare, through all its foldings, to the gaze
Of mortal eye? If vengeance wait the foe,
Or fate th’ oppressor, ’tis in depths conceal’d
Beneath a smiling surface.—Youth, I say,
Keep thy soul down! Put on a mask!—’tis worn