Boast not these titles of your ancestors;
(Brave youths) they are their possessions, none of yours:
When your own virtues, equalled have their names,
'Twill be but fair, to lean upon their fames;
For they are strong supporters: but, till then,
The greatest are but growing gentlemen.
It is a wretched thing to trust to reeds;
Which all men do, that urge not their own deeds
Up to their ancestors; the river's side,
By which you are planted, shows your fruit shall bide:
Hang all your rooms, with one large pedigree:
'Tis virtue alone, is true nobility.
Which virtue from your father, ripe, will fall;
Study illustrious him, and you have all.