Comes to upbraid the world like Effingham.
Nor was it modest in thee to depart
To thy eternal home, where now thou art,
Ere thy reproach was ready; or to die,
Ere custom had prepar’d thy calumny.
Eight days have past since thou hast paid thy debt
To sin, and not a libel stirring yet;
Courtiers that scoff by patent, silent sit,
And have no use of slander or of wit;
But (which is monstrous) though against the tyde,