That's greater yet: to cry his own up neat.
He doth, at meals, alone his pheasant eat,
Which is main greatness. And, at his still board,
He drinks to no man: that's, too, like a lord.
He keeps another's wife, which is a spice
Of solemn greatness. And he dares, at dice,
Blaspheme God greatly. Or some poor hind beat,
That breathes in his dog's way: and this is great.
Nay more, for greatness' sake, he will be one
May hear my epigrams, but like of none.