To The Envied Poem by John Andrewes

Is it not strange, that such can liue, whose foode
is dres'd by Enuie, and with poyson mixt,
Whose heart's the kitchin, and whose canker'd bloud
the meager Cooke carowseth; while betwixt,
His master and the diuell are begotten
prodigious Monsters, which appeare as barren
Of honestie as Hell, their ioints as rotten
through want of marrow, as a peece of carrion?
By these th'art malic'd; but be not dismaide
nor grieue thou at them, rather for them grieue
If so thou canst thy Charitie perswade,
(which as thou'rt flesh and bloud, I scarce belieue.)
When a fierce Dogge comes running at thee, stay
and thou shalt finde hee'l rather back retire,
Then offer to assault thee: if away
from him thou fly'st thou further'st his desire.
So these (farre worse then dogges) will fiercely bite,
when they perceiue their venome makes thee stirre:
For nothing giues such fulnesse of delight
to th'snarling spleene of a malitious Curre,
As to behold the mischiefe that he doth.
But where well-temper'd patience doth preserue
(As a safe Antidote to th'rankling tooth
of Enuies whelpes) they pine awaie, and starue.
This to thy Fare-well; if thy Vertues make thee
hatefull to th'bad, their enuie is thy glorie:
If loue to vice make good mens loue forsake thee,
resolue thy selfe they enuy not, they're sorrie.