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Them pure in heart and courteous,

Upright, and good, and generous.

For never yet was man so bold

In field, but, if he chanced to hold

In heart some baseness, then would flee

Far from him fair Nobility.

Nobility I greatly prize,

Because mean spirits in her eyes

Are hateful, and I meekly pray,

Dear father, that you cast away

All proud and villain thought, and reign

The good man’s prop, the bad man’s bane.

Make your dear heart the dwelling-place

Of gentle love and tender grace

For all poor folk; ’tis well a king

The portals of his heart should fling

Wide open. O my father, deign

To list my speech, you then shall gain

The people’s love; that lacking, poor

Is greatest king as rudest boor.’

O Phanie, precious words were these.

But never fool his folly sees

In other light than worthiest sense,

Wisdom he hears, but learns nought thence.

Thus Crœsus’ heart was obdurate,

And sternly scorned he to abate

His pride; if herein wise was he,

Or foolish, thou ere long shalt see.