Where then is thy worthiness, that so thou claimest honour?
Let the true judgment of humility reckon up thine ill deserts,
How little is there to be loved, how much to stir up scorn!
The double heart, the bitter tongue, the rash and erring spirit,
Be these, ye purest among men, your passports unto favour?
It is mercy in the Merciful, and justice in the Just, to be jealous of His creature's love,
But how should evil or duplicity arrogate affection to itself?
Where love is happiness and duty, to be jealous of that love is godlike,
But who can reverence the guilty? who findeth pleasure in the mean?
Check the presumption of thy hopes: thankfully take refuge in obscurity,