Christopher Marlowe - The Jew of Malta (The Prologue) lyrics

Enter Machevill. MACHEVILL. Albeit the world think Machiavel is dead, Yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps; And, now the Guise is dead, is come from France, To view this land, and frolic with his friends. To some perhaps my name is odious; But such as love me guard me from their tongues, And let them know that I am Machiavel, And weigh not men, and therefore not mens words. Admired I am of those that hate me most. Though some speak openly against my books, Yet will they read me and thereby attain To Peter's chair; and when they cast me off, Are poisoned by my climbing followers. I count religion but a childish toy And hold there is no sin but ignorance. Birds of the air will tell of murders past? I am ashamed to hear such fooleries. Many will talk of title to a crown. What right had Caesar to the empire? Might first made kings, and laws were then most sure When, like the Draco's, they were writ in blood. Hence comes it that a strong built citadel Commands much more than letters can import: Which maxim had but Phalaris observed, He'd never bellowed in a brazen bull, Of great ones envy: o'the poor petty wights Let me be envied and not pitied! But whither am I bound? I come not, I, To read a lecture here in Britanie, But to present the tragedy of a Jew Who smiles to see how full his bags are crammed, Which money was not got without my means. I crave but this. Grace him as he deserves, And let him not be entertained the worse Because he favours me.