_What more _Rogues still_? I thought our happy Times
Were freed from such, as from _Rebellious Crimes_.
But such will be: i’ th’ best of _Times_ we find
The _worst of men_; the _Law_ can’t _lawless_ bind.
It might be so, since Nature thought it fit
To give some nought but _Lands_, to others _Wit_
But no _Estates_, bestowing such a mind
That can’t within due _limits_ be confin’d.
Hence _Depredations_, _Thefts_, nay worser facts,
_Cheating_ & _Whoring_, with unheard-of acts:
For _Swimming_ for their _Lives_, these _misrules_ think,
’Tis better _catch_ at any thing, then _sink_.
Such was this _Rogue_, esteem’d the worst of men;
Liv’d by his _Sword_, his _Pregnant Wit_, and _Pen_.
In short, Pray pardon if I speak amiss;
I never read so arch a _Rogue_ as _This_._