What praise lies in the raiments of a king?

What power rests within a jeweled crown—

And to earth’s son’s, what psalms are fit to sing

Where lineage alone confers renown?

What gives one being right by blood to rule?

What crux of life ordains a better birth?

What vain conceit is held by jesters’ fools

That they mouth scripted lines of paltry worth?

The merit of all men lies in their deeds

Where by invention they so prove their right,

For unearned honor ever truth impedes

And patronage damns every hope to blight.

From crowded masses let that soul arise;

To stand alone—and dare to touch the skies.