[026] By the fool multitude, that choose by show,
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;
[028] Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weather on the outward wall,
[030] Even in the force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire,
Because I will not jump with common spirits,
[033] And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;
035 Tell me once more what title thou dost bear: